My New Best Friend
by Anonymous Void
Summary: Over the holidays, Kyle finds someone new to hang out with and in the process begins to neglect his other friends. Stan doesn't like this. Not one bit.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: New fic and this time, surprise, surprise, this is NOT an OC story. I was thinking about it the other day and outside of that series of OC fics I've been doing, I haven't really written _real_ South Park fanfiction. So I thought more about it; what could I write that could possible happen in the chaotic world that is South Park. More importantly. What could I write that would be in the same vein as South Park? Humor, parody, satire, that kind of thing. Thus, the first chapter of a short and sweet story. It's not going to be a long one, not as long as I have been writing but I hope you'll all stick around and read. Old readers, new ones, all are welcomed. So let's do this thing, shall we? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Chapter 1

It was 'tis the season to be jolly, white Christmas snow falling from a white and gray sky, gently tumbling towards the white powdered earth. Trees once green were coated in white, creating the feeling of a winter wonderland amongst the Rocky Mountains.

In the midst of this scenic landscape resided a small town tucked away in the depths of the mountain range. It was known to those within it and those from without simply by the name of South Park.

Guarding themselves against the chill of winter, families hid themselves in homes of brick and cement, heaters cranked up high and eggnog shared amongst those who were eighteen or older or who could get away with it. Inside these manmade shelters, it was nothing except rosiness and warmth, troubles pushed to the side as the holiday cheer permeated their troubled lives.

Of course, it wasn't just any old time during these winter months, far from it. It was that time of the year, the time of year where faith in humanity was renewed and suicide rates skyrocketed.

It was Christmas.

For those who dared, they ventured out into the frozen world beyond to seek out presents for the good boys and girls as well as the little shits who threatened to call up Child Protective Services if they didn't get that one thing they really wanted. For those who had done their shopping earlier or were procrastinating until the last minute, they remained in their homes, or respective work places, living it up with their families, or coworkers, getting ready for more to come in the upcoming dates until that special day arrived.

You would think that this feeling was all inclusive, anybody and everybody welcomed into it. However, there were those who were excluded no matter how unintentionally. Maybe it was due to having no family of their own. Maybe it was because they didn't have a home at all. Maybe it was because they were packing up to go elsewhere for the holiday season, someplace warm if you know what I mean. Or maybe it was because you were part of the only Jewish family in town and the exclusion was still incidental.

And maybe the fat kid several houses down had something to do with it.

Regardless, in the middle of this winter chill, a young member of this sole Jewish family wearing an orange jacket and green ushanka ventured out from the only building in town without a Christmas tree inside it. Hands gloved in green gloves were slid into the jacket's pockets and shoes that were particularly unfashionable made one step after the other on the icy sidewalk, never slipping once.

Though alone, this ten year old Jewish boy who went by the name Kyle Broflovski was outside of his warm and comfortable home not because he was depressed or anything. No, he just needed some fresh air and a walk around town seemed to be the best prescription. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that everyone he knew who wasn't related to him or adopted were too busy to hang out today.

No, really. Absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with that.

Okay, he might have felt a little bit lonely but that was to be expected. But other than that, he was fine. He was desensitized to this whole "all by himself at this time of year thing" he had going on.

He didn't blame any of the guys. They…they didn't know any better. They were all filled with excitement about getting free stuff from a fat man in a red outfit sliding down their chimneys in the middle of the night. It was only natural that they forgot about other things. They'd all come to their senses afterwards in time for New Years'.

Still didn't take away from the fact that he was still by himself.

But he had Hanukkah, didn't he? Presents for eight days! Sure he didn't get school off for it and some of the presents were really lame and what the fuck was up with lighting all those candles anyway? He had been told many a time but it hadn't yet stuck in his head yet. Must be all those kosher latkes he ate around this time of year. Latkes were awesome no matter what Cartman said about them.

Coming to a stop, Kyle looked both ways before crossing the street. In these winter conditions, cars would have a harder time coming to a sudden stop. He had had a few close calls before too, with the other guys definitely. For some reason, Kenny constantly got spooked and ran off and he wouldn't hear from him until the next day for some reason.

Now that he was on the other side of the street, he continued on his way, letting his feet guide him to wherever they wanted to go. He had no particular destination in mind; he was just walking around. Nothing wrong with that.

Yet…was that his imagination or was that Stan's house right over there? It was, wasn't it? He wasn't delusional enough to tell himself that it wasn't. You know, he was just going to walk past it, that's what he was going to do. Walk past it, not even looking at the windows to see the Christmas-y atmosphere inside of it. Just walk pass it Kyle. Just walk…

He was looking towards the windows. Well, at the very least they were frost covered so he couldn't see through them. At least there was that mercy. Thank Jehovah for small—

The window shattered as some object, Kyle couldn't get a good look at it, crashed through it.

"Damn it turd! I'm gonna kill you!"

"Aaaaahhhhh!"

Sounded a lot like Christmas in there.

He continued on his way, not learning from past mistakes and letting his feet guide him to wherever they wanted to go again. Each breath he took laced with the cold chill in the air. Nothing better to wake you up. His travels took him past groups of carolers, all singing songs about the holiday in which he had little involvement with other than to save it once a year or so. He trekked through downtown and Main Street, Christmas decorations from the religious to the secular displayed prominently all over the place. Cars parked up and down the street as shoppers hurried to and fro, laden with bags and packages.

If you listened closely, you could hear fights in some of the stores. Huh, hadn't heard that swear before. Wait until he told the guys it…several days from now. Damn it, school would have to be out now, didn't it? The one place where they were all forced to socialize regardless of time of year.

It was too crowded in these parts, though, and there were a lot of adults. Hardly any kids so really, there was nothing for him here. He changed directions and continued on his way, the crowds of consumers dwindling the further he got away from Main Street. With all this walking he was doing, he was getting a little bit tired. Should he go find a place to sit down and rest or should he head home?

Hmm, didn't feel like going home just yet so he supposed that he'd find some place nice and quiet and try not to think about anything that would get him depressed. There was so much for him to be grateful for that he really had no reason to be depressed, right? He had more than some people had so that had to count for something, right?

You know, all this self-affirmation stuff he was trying to do wasn't really helping. Come on Kyle, get it together. This is an overused plot device here. You're better than this.

Don't think, just find a place where you can take a load off your feet for a while and just…just do something like marvel at the snow or something. Hopefully it wouldn't be too lame because if he got caught at it, he'd either be teased by the other guys or be called a fag. Neither of which were things he wanted happening.

Yeah, this place over here, this quasi-park-like place looked like a good place. And yes, he was aware that he had used the word place three times in the same sentence. So sue him, grammar Nazis. Forgetting that stuff, it was nice here. Really it was. Large trees, a dirt path, even a stone bridge over a babbling brook. What better place to enjoy nature or star in a melancholy montage?

He headed over to the bridge, coming to a stop in the middle of it. Leaning forward on the chest high, for adults, wall that lined the edge of the bridge, Kyle placed his arms on top of the cobble of granite and cement, pushing himself up so that his chest now rested above his arms, his feet dangling in the air.

That was better. Time to let his legs rest a bit. He'd hang out here for a bit before continuing on his walk. In the meantime, he'd take in the trees and the privacy they afforded him from the hustle and bustle of South Park. He let out a sigh and relaxed…

There was an echoing sigh beside him, a few feet away maybe, and he glanced that way while wondering who else was out here.

Imagine his surprise when he found another boy there, about his age too if he were to guess by physical appearance. Clad in black, it seemed this guy had the same idea as him and had propped his upper body on the bridge rail wall, or whatever the term it was for it, his feet dangling a few inches above the bridge floor.

Looked like he had been here a while from the looks of things though how Kyle missed seeing him, he did not know. The dude was dressed all in black, including the scarf, and did not blend in with the white atmosphere. There was no headgear or anything which revealed locks of hair as black as night.

Not that that was unusual or anything. Kyle knew a lot of guys at school with black hair. Girls too if he thought about it. But jeez, he wasn't sure about the pale skin. Did this guy not get out a lot? If that was the case, that might be why he didn't really recognize him. Or he could be someone who moved in recently and this was the first meeting him?

Didn't adults know what moves could do to children? They could be so cruel.

"Hey," he said, trying to be friendly. Now that he was getting a better look, he had the feeling that this guy was also lonely.

Brown eyes moved over and onto him, looking at the Jew inquisitively. "Hey," the boy greeted back, somewhat uncertain.

Still, not much of a talker, huh? Well, let's see… "Nice day," Kyle commented and immediately swore internally at himself. Was that the best he could come up with? Nice day?

"Uh huh," the boy nodded.

"So…what are you doing?" Kyle asked cautiously, thinking that this boy thought he was lame.

"Looking at the snow," the boy answered.

Oh thank Jehovah. He wasn't the only person with that lame idea.

"What about you?" the boy asked.

"Oh. Same thing, I guess," Kyle answered.

"Don't you have any friends you could be with?" the boy asked, Kyle wincing a bit not at the pointed question but also at the high pitched voice that sounded like a seventh grader whenever their voice cracked. Except this wasn't for one hilarious second but perpetual.

Oh, way to go. Ask the one thing that he didn't want to answer. Well, since this boy answered him honestly about the snow, he might as well be honest here too.

"They're all…busy," Kyle said.

"Busy?" the boy asked.

"Yeah, busy. With Christmas," Kyle said.

"Shouldn't you also be busy with Christmas?" the boy inquired further, his brown eyes completely focused on Kyle now.

"Not really," Kyle admitted. "I'm not…my family doesn't celebrate Christmas. We're Jewish."

"Ah," the boy nodded.

"Well, what about you?" Kyle asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from himself. "What about your friends?"

"Don't have any," the boy said. "I have…problems making any."

Well, that last part preempted him from asking further about it. There was still more he could ask, though. "What about Christmas?"

"I don't celebrate it either," the boy replied.

Whoa. Don't tell him that there were two boys, the same age or so, in South Park, Colorado, that didn't celebrate Christmas. What were the odds of that happening?

"Why don't you?" he asked. "Don't your parents…?"

"Not at all," the boy said. "Not even Santa."

Wow. That sounded really…sad in a way. Not even Santa? What kind of bastards were this kid's parents? Even he himself believed in and got all jolly for the jolly old man and his reindeer-driven sleigh. Really, Kyle felt a bit bad for this kid. Say…this kid was alone and he was alone. Maybe they could be alone toget—that was so gay, there're no words to describe it.

Why be alone with somebody else when they could _do_ something together instead?

"Wanna hang out?" he suggested.

The boy blinked at him owlishly. "Hang…out?"

"Yeah, you know, do something," Kyle elaborated. "I don't have anything better to do and I'm guessing you don't either. So let's find something to do."

The boy blinked at him again then nervously answered, "Sure. I guess."

"It'll be fun, trust me," Kyle said soothingly. Then, as if it had occurred to him, he introduced himself. "I'm Kyle," he said and held his hand out for a shake.

The boy stared at him for a moment, uncertainty screaming from his body language yet he hesitantly accepted Kyle's hand and mustered enough confidence to say, "I'm Damien."

**Rectus… Dominus… Cheesy Poofs…**

"Did you hear something?" Kyle wondered, looking around at their surroundings.

"No," Damien answered.

"…Kay. Well, come on," Kyle said, releasing Damien's hand and gesturing for the other boy to come with him. "My house is this way if you want to come over or is there something you want to do?"

"I'm very new to this," Damien admitted, his uncertainty holding him back. "I'll do whatever you want to do, I guess."

"We'll start with some video games and go from there," Kyle said, planning the rest of the day out in his head. "Do you play video games? Because if you haven't, you've been missing out. What am I saying, of course you play video games…"

By now he was babbling as he led Damien away from the small park and towards his humble home. The black-haired boy didn't seem to mind though so Kyle continued to, in his eyes, make a fool of himself. Still, it was better than being all alone, he had to tell himself. There was still the rest of Christmas break and he was sure that at some point he would get back together with the other guys.

What's the worst that could happen?

* * *

_Two weeks later…_

Stan was not looking well the morning of the first day of school of the new year. No it wasn't because he was sick or recovering from being sick. If only that were the case, he'd still be home and missing school. Well, he wouldn't miss school because who really misses school? Not ten year olds, that was for sure.

The problem that Stan was facing, though school was a big one, was that he hadn't spoken to Kyle in a while. A long while. Eighteen days, fifteen hours, thirty-nine minutes, seventeen seconds, and counting but who was really keeping track of that? He was having trouble remembering when the last time he had even _seen_ his best friend much less spoken with him.

He was worried, wondering if something had happened to Kyle or maybe he had done something wrong and Kyle wasn't speaking with him, or, or something was being hidden from him and it was bad, really bad. Damn it, where was Kyle?!

Well, maybe this drought of his best friend's presence would come to an end this morning. It was the first day of school for the new year and Stan had refused the worry his mother had expressed upon seeing him at breakfast. Stan was going to the bus stop and he was going to see Kyle, maybe demand an explanation or something. Because really, who neglected their friends, hmm?

Really. They had to be major douchebags or something.

That sight that greeted him at the bus stop was Kyle-less though it did have plenty of two other boys, one in an orange parka and the other with a red coat and a yellow poof ball hat. That was okay; while not common there were times when Kyle was the last to show up. Didn't happen often but it happened enough that Stan wasn't ringing any alarms yet. There was still plenty of time for Kyle to show up.

Taking his place in line with his other two friends, his brown coat and red poof ball hat making him stick out from the other two, Stan tuned in to their voices just as Cartman, the one in the red coat and yellow poof ball hat, said, "Okay, okay, I'll ask him Kenny."

Ask him what, he wondered.

"Hey Stan? Have the last couple of weeks been as good for you as they have for me?" Cartman asked.

"Cartman, I don't know how but that sounds so wrong," Stan said.

"What's so wrong about it?" Cartman challenged. "Don't tell me you've been missing the Jew."

Stan stared at Cartman but said nothing. That silence, however, spoke so much to the fat boy.

"Oh. My. God. You are missing him!" Cartman exclaimed. "You can't be serious! Let me tell you, the last couple of weeks have been so great for me. No annoying, Jesus-killing Jews annoying me. 'You're stupid Cartman.' 'That's not going to work Cartman.' 'Shut your fucking face you Anti-Semetic asshole.'" Those last few sentences had been said in a high falsetto. "Nope, heard none of that. It's like I died and went to a Jew-less Heaven."

"I haven't heard from him in weeks," Stan stated.

A muffled reply came from Kenny, the other boy in the orange parka, but Stan easily translated it as, "Really?"

Cartman gasped. "Could it be true? Have my birthday wishes finally come true? Is Kyle dead? Or dying in sweet, self-deserved agony? Oh please let it be both!"

"That's horrible!" Stan exclaimed. Then, almost desperately, "Kenny, have you heard anything from Kyle?"

Kenny shook his head, making the appropriate, muffled, "Nuh uh."

Now Stan was more worried than ever. None of the others had spoken or heard from Kyle in weeks! Was Cartman right? Had something bad happened to his best friend?

The image that sprung to mind was a deathly ill Kyle, practically on his death bed. Weak coughs and harsh rasping that served as breathing made his best friend all that more frail.

"_Where are you…cough-cough…Stan?"_

The rumbling of the school bus brought him out of his imagination long enough for him to follow after Kenny and Cartman and find a seat on the yellow contraption. No sooner had he found a seat that another awful vision assailed his mind.

This time, it was one of Kyle and his family being held hostage by some stereotypical kidnappers or terrorists. He could practically see Kyle holding his younger adopted brother as tight as he could, tears in the corners of his eyes as he was terrorized by the barrels of machine guns all aimed at him.

"_Someone help us! Stan!"_

"Hey. Hey." Someone was snapping their fingers by his ear trying to get his attention. "Stan? Hey, I think Stan's broken. Stan? Is something wrong?"

"Don't worry about him, he's just being a little gaywad," Cartman's voice intruded through Stan's imaginative theories. "He hasn't seen his little boyfriend in a while."

"I'm not gay Cartman!" Stan growled at the other.

"Are you talking about Kyle? I haven't seen him in a while."

"I know. Isn't it great?" Cartman chortled. "No more will that Jew sully the air we breathe. I hope some serial killer's torturing him. It's nothing that he doesn't deserve."

Before Stan could further reprimand the anti-Semitic, another vision of Kyle in some dark, dank basement, bound to some kind of chair or device that had lots of sharp instruments attached to it while a deranged psychopath was telling him that he wanted to play a little game. For some reason there was a puppet on a tricycle but that could have been Stan's twisted imagination there. What wasn't twisted was the fear on Kyle's face as he cried out for help.

"_Don't hurt me! Please! I'll do what you want! Somebody! Anybody! Help me! Stan!"_

So engrossed in this vision that Stan continued to allow it to develop and much to his horror watch it become incredibly bloody, he didn't notice when the bus had arrived at the school, various bodies moving around him to leave. Kenny had to shake him in order for him to get off the yellow vehicle so he wouldn't end up have to take an extended ride to…wherever it was that school buses went when they weren't shuttling kids around. One kid had stuck around on a bus and hadn't been seen again. His name might have been Kevin but Stan couldn't be sure. There were a lot of kids in school named Kevin.

Nevertheless, he followed Kenny off the bus and made it a point to ignore Cartman as the other kept enjoying their Kyle-less world. What did he have to be so happy about, Stan wondered. One of their friends, his best friend, was missing and no one had a clue as to where he was. He could be on some island in the middle of the ocean, starving to death, and calling for help—

Ow. That was the door. Why didn't anyone stop him from running into it?

"HAH! Oh this is great! I've never had such a great day in my life!" Cartman guffawed. "I can't wait to see what happens next! Ain't that right Kenny?"

Kenny said nothing but he did take his eyes off Stan to look at Cartman for a moment before returning his gaze to Stan.

"Kenny?" Cartman tried again when he got no answer? "Come on Kenny, say something. Kenny? Kenny?"

Once again Stan began to tune everything out as he entered the school, heading for his locker like he did every day. He didn't want to listen to Cartman anymore, lest his overactive imagination be inspired to come up with even more gruesome and horrible fates for his best friend. He was easily given to suggestion as it was.

Reaching his locker, somehow not suffering anymore incidents that could potentially embarrass him, he reached over to twist the knob of the combination lock. Turn clockwise twice around, counterclockwise once, then direct to the last number and—his locker wasn't opening. Now that took him out his self-imposed stupor. Trying the combination again, he once again found that his locker wasn't opening. What was this shit? This was his locker! He knew the combination! Why wasn't it—this wasn't his locker.

A glance towards the number on the metal door revealed that he was indeed at the wrong one. In fact, this was Kyle's locker he was at. Which meant there was a different combination involved. Kyle was really on his mind, wasn't he? Oh God, this was torture.

"Dude? Are you alright?"

Stan's eyes widened. He knew that voice! He knew it so well! Almost robotically, his head swiveled slowly to his left and there, right there, looking just the way that he had last scene him was Kyle. He looked alright, perfectly healthy, and no signs of psychological trauma. While the same couldn't be said for himself, Stan felt relief flood through his ten year old body like a flood.

"Thank God you weren't kidnapped by serial killing terrorists," Stan blurted out. He meant every word of it.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "O…kay… Thanks. I guess. Could you…you know…move?"

"Huh? Oh!" It seemed like any word Kyle spoke could cut through any cognitive haze that his brain could throw up and the boy in the red poof ball hat moved to a side, allowing Kyle access to his locker. He was just so overwhelmed that his best friend was alright and unhurt and hold on a second.

"Why weren't you at the bus stop?" Stan demanded as he remembered what had put him in such a mood.

"Huh?" Kyle was looking at him, confused as to what he was talking about. Eyes lighting up, "Oh. That. We got a ride from my dad."

Hold on. _We_? As if there was someone else with Kyle? "We? What do you mean by we?" Stan half asked, half demanded.

"I suppose you're going to find out anyway," Kyle said under his breath yet Stan heard his every word. Find out about what exactly? "Stan, over the break, I made a new friend."

Time seemed to stand still along with his heart. Kyle…made a new friend? But…but Kyle sucked at making new friends! And he sucked even more at keeping them! And why did it feel like someone had sucker punched him in the stomach?

"A…new…friend…?" he repeated slowly, the words almost being torn out of him.

"Yeah. He's a guy who goes to school here," Kyle said.

A new friend who was a guy… And went to school here…

Something burning was ignited within Stan, a certain green-eyed monster rearing its head. Only one question was on his mind at the moment.

**WHO?**

"It's funny really," Kyle continued on, oblivious to the boiling turmoil within Stan. "He's been going to school here for a while and I hadn't noticed. He's a real good guy once you get him to open up. A little weird but a good guy." As he had spoke, Kyle reached to grasp the combination lock dial and spun it clockwise twice, counterclockwise once, then straight to the last number. A click and the door opened.

Stan's nostrils were nearly flaring at this point. Why was Kyle complimenting this asshole who _dared_ become Kyle's friend? He wasn't liking this, not one bit.

"I haven't heard from you since…since Christmas!" Stan exclaimed. "What the hell dude! Are you telling me you've been hanging out with someone else this whole time?"

"What? We haven't? But didn't we…? Oh I see." Forgetting his locker for the moment, Kyle faced Stan completely, a small smile on his lips. "Sorry about that. I lost track of time I guess. I was having so much fun over the break."

Having more fun without him, Kyle meant. Lost track. Right. What was he saying, this didn't sound right. It didn't sound right at all! Stan had been busy frantically waiting to get in touch with Kyle or at least see him and the whole time Kyle was having _fun_? _Without him_? And with _someone else_? What was wrong with this picture?

"Hey dude," Kyle greeted while inadvertently directing Stan's anger at another boy dressed all in black. Stupid black turtleneck. Did his grandmother get him that for Christmas or something? So stupid looking. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Of course," answered the other boy who looked to be their age. Pale-skinned hands were held up as if being presented for inspection. "Feel them if you want."

"How do I know you didn't just get them wet?" Kyle challenged. Goddamn it Kyle, stop being a hygiene freak and introduce them already! He wanted to know this asshole's name so that he could start ripping on it.

"I used soap this time! I swear!" the asshole said defensively.

"Kyle…" Stan grounded out.

"Hmm? Oh sorry," Kyle said. "Stan, this is the guy I was telling you about. His name's Damien."

**Rectus… Dominus… Cheesy Poofs…**

Kyle frowned. "Did you guys hear that?"

Hear what? Stan wasn't paying attention. He was too busy trying to stare down this Damien asshole with his asshole brown eyes, asshole pale skin, and asshole black hair—_what_? _Black hair_?! Was Kyle trying to replace him?!

"Anyway," Kyle continued when no one seemed to be replying to his previous question, "Damien, this is Stan. My best friend."

"Damn right," Stan said. "I'm his _best_ friend."

"Stan?" Now Kyle was frowning at him but Stan only had eyes for this Damien loser. Heh, he was taller than this guy!

"Well, it's nice to meet Kyle's best friend," Damien said pleasantly, grating on Stan's already frayed nerves. "I wonder why it took so long for him to introduce us."

Kyle dropped his frown and chuckled awkwardly, pulling at his collar nervously. "Yeah…guess we were having so much fun that I forgot."

He was having _fun_ with this douchebag? Oh hell no! Kyle wasn't supposed to be having _fun_ with anyone else but him! He was the best friend here, the super best friend even, not this asshole!

"Why is he looking at me like that?" Damien asked Kyle, turning away from Stan.

"I don't know. Stan?" Kyle reached out a hand to see if he could shake Stan out of whatever funk he was in.

"You can do so much better Kyle," Stan snapped out of it, Kyle's movement attracting his fury. "Did you spend the whole Christmas break with this douche? Why didn't you call _me_ instead? _We_ could have had _fun_ together!"

"Excuse me?" Now Kyle looked offended, as if he was the one that was called a douche. "Don't call him a douche, asshole. Now say you're sorry. It's not his fault that he was the only other person in South Park who wasn't too busy celebrating Christmas to hang out."

"That's another thing, where the hell were you! With him?" Stan spat out accusingly.

"Stan, like every other year, you hang out with the other guys and talk all about what you're going to get for Christmas, intentionally or unintentionally leaving me out. I spend most of the Christmas holidays alone and by myself. Forgive me for wanting to hang out with someone who doesn't forget that I don't celebrate it," Kyle stated. "I try, I really do, but I usually get gypped. I'm not playing that game anymore. I guess this time you got a taste of your own medicine. Now, can we forgive and forget and try to get along?"

"That doesn't sound too bad," Damien said amiably.

"Don't be trying to be Mr. Nice Guy over here!" Stan snapped at the dick who dared to steal his best friend's attention. "Kyle's my friend! Mine!"

"I never said he wasn't," Damien said slowly.

"Stan! What is getting into you!" Kyle exclaimed.

Stan grabbed Kyle by his shoulders and held him at arm's length, boring his blue eyes into the other's. "Kyle, drop this guy and come with me. He's nothing but trouble."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kyle retorted. "The only thing he hasn't been is trouble."

"Thanks," Damien said.

"Keep out of this," Stan snapped.

"Why are you talking like this?" Kyle demanded. "Can't we all get along?"

"Do you really need me to reply that?" Stan asked heatedly. "Kyle, you're my friend. Not his. Let's go and rip on Cartman like we always do."

"No Stan," Kyle said, knocking Stan's hands off him. Now that was a surprise. Normally Kyle wouldn't turn down the opportunity to make fun of Cartman. Had…had Kyle been replaced by some kind of robot lookalike? "I don't know what's gotten into you," Kyle continued, interrupting his thoughts, "but I don't like it."

"Kyle, we have this thing, this theme. We don't need anybody new in it. Now come on. We have so much to catch up on," Stan pleaded with Kyle though what he really wanted to do was drag the Jew far away and—

"No," Kyle refused. "I…I think we might have to…to separate."

"Separate?" Stan repeated, not liking it.

"I think we need to see other friends," Kyle said.

It was like being hit with a wrecking ball or shot in the heart. It was like the world had frozen up and time stood still in that single instant for the sole purpose of prolonging it. Wait, maybe he had heard wrong. Maybe…maybe Kyle hadn't really said what he thought he had said. Yeah, yeah, he misheard was all. Kyle didn't really say that. Nope.

"What?" he asked for further clarification and perhaps to hear what Kyle really said.

"I said we need to see other friends," Kyle said.

And out through the window went his denial. This couldn't be happening! Kyle…Kyle couldn't be leaving him for someone else! Could he?

With that, the world stood still once more.

* * *

"Stan?" Kyle frowned as he snapped his fingers in front of Stan's face, getting no response.

"I think you broke him," Damien said helpfully.

"Yeah, I'm thinking that too," Kyle agreed. "He'll get over it. I think."

"If you're sure about that then let's get to class," Damien suggested. "We don't want to be late."

"Of course. Right." Kyle nodded in agreement, taking his books out of his forgotten locker which had been opened this whole time. As he shut the door, he looked in worry at Stan. "You think we should take him to the nurse?"

"He doesn't look sick," Damien shrugged.

"Well it's his business if he wants to stay in the hallway," Kyle said. "Why don't you show me where your class is? I need to see that there are other fourth grade classes in this school."

"This way," Damien said, gesturing in the direction of where they needed to go.

As Kyle walked past Damien, he did not see the other give a look at the still frozen Stan, a small smirk forming on his lips as he turned to follow after him.

* * *

Wendy found Stan still in front of Kyle's locker moments later, the girl excited to see her boyfriend after the break. She'd been out of town at relatives for the Christmas break and had only been able to talk with Stan over the phone.

At one point during a call, she could hear some yelling from Stan's sister and the call abruptly cut off. After that she hadn't been able to speak with him. She was wondering why Stan was ignoring her but wasn't about to jump to conclusions just yet. There could be a good reason why Stan hadn't been answering her calls or replying to her e-mails and text messages.

It had to be a really good one though.

So in the frame of mind of allowing Stan one attempt to explain himself, Wendy approached Stan from behind and greeted, "Hey Stan."

Stan didn't reply.

Wendy waited for a moment, waiting for Stan to look at her or even say something but nothing. Nothing at all. He was still standing there, staring straight ahead with this look on his face. She couldn't think of any reason why he would be doing such a thing.

"Stan?" she repeated as she moved around so that she was face-to-face with him. Now that she was getting a good look at him, it looked like Stan had just been through some kind of breakup. It was similar to the face he had had when she had broken up with him the first time.

But why would he have such an expression on his face in the first place?

"Stan?" she said one more time, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Stan, answer me."

Stan did answer though he didn't use words. He looked down, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and turned and walked away.

Wendy was flabbergasted. What was going on?

Why did she have this feeling that her world was about to be shattered?


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Coming out at a fast clip is chapter 2. Going to try and do a once a week update here, maybe sooner depending on circumstances. So what do we have in this chapter? Naughty language. Violence. Wanton property damage. The usual South Park affair. Now, I have a question I got to ask you folks but I'll do so at the end of the chapter so do read that. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, implied death

Chapter 2

Stan was like a zombie throughout class. All he could do was sit there and wonder about what had happened this morning. As a consequence, he flunked a pop quiz about the latest celebrity gossip, got called a retard by Mr. Garrison several times because he was "being made an example of," had Cartman imply subtly and blatantly that he was gay, again, several times over, and all the while Kyle was just one seat over.

One. Seat. Over!

It was like he was being taunted. His best friend…correction, ex-super best friend was practically in the desk next to him…and one row in front but that was beside the point! When he wasn't lost in thought, he was staring right at the back of Kyle's head, wondering why his supposed best friend was not breaking up the same as he was.

Thus it alternated like that, from lost in thought to staring at Kyle to lost in thought to staring at Kyle to lost in thought…

Apparently he was lost in thought at the moment.

This zombie behavior continued up until lunch when everyone hurried out to fill their stomachs and Stan found himself all alone in the classroom. So very alone… What was this empty void inside of him? It felt so cold. So empty. So dark. What had been there before? What had once filled it up so well that he had never felt it before? What had—errrrrrrrrrr…

Oh, it was just his stomach. Lunch time!

He was in autopilot as he made his way to the cafeteria and moved through the lunch line. Because he had been one of the last to leave the classroom and all the others had had a few minutes head start on him, he had to wait alone and without anyone cool to talk to. So it was a dull time waiting and moving towards the Mexican cafeteria chef and snagging what would be his lunch for the day.

Eventually he made it out with a slice of pizza, an apple, and a can of Dr. Pepper. Eyes searched for a moment before finding the table where a few familiar faces resided but it was only after he had seated himself beside Kenny that he noticed one familiar face not there. With Jimmy to his right, arm braces taking up quite some room on the lunch bench, and on the opposite side, starting from his left, Cartman, Craig, and Butters, there was a certain usual suspect missing.

Where was Kyle? He always sat with them.

"What took you so long? Pining over the loss of your boyfriend?" Cartman taunted from over two lunches.

"Shut up Cartman," Stan retorted. Damn it, how many times had he said that today? "Anyone seen Kyle?" he asked, ignoring Cartman's following taunt. It wasn't important, really.

"He's over there," Craig said, not deigning to point with his finger. No, Stan had to take a cue from the direction the blue-wearing asshole was facing. Asshole. Nonetheless, Stan turned around in his seat, jaw falling open as he saw Kyle at another table with that Damien kid. What the hell was this shit?

It wasn't right! What was happening?

He was too engrossed in the sight before him that he didn't notice Wendy coming up to him with her school-bought lunch in hand. "Hey Stan, want to eat lunch together?" she asked.

Stan didn't answer. He was too busy watching his ex-best friend be best friends with some other douche.

"Stan?" Wendy tried again.

"Don't bother, Stan's being a faggy pussy and longing for the homoerotic touch of his boyfriend," Cartman said, taking a sip from his own can of Dr. Pepper.

"Stan's not gay," Wendy said, frowning at the fat boy.

Kenny spoke, but his voice was muffled so anyone passing couldn't quite understand him.

"Yeah, totally," Cartman agreed.

"They're just going through a t-t-t-t-tiff," Jimmy piped up, brown hair wisping in front of his eyes. "E-e-everyone goes through them."

"No way! Stan and Kyle are going through a tiff!" Butters exclaimed, slapping his hands down onto the lunch table in surprise.

"Just shut up and eat your lunch Butters," Craig said, making an example of himself and taking a bite out of his slice of pepperoni pizza.

"I'm afraid it's true," Cartman said dramatically. "You might need to find yourself a new boyfriend Wendy. Stan's finally coming out of the closet."

"No one's talking to you," Wendy said. "Stan, answer me."

Stan's eyes narrowed as he saw Kyle laugh at something the douchebag said. Oh hell to the naw, Kyle was _not_ laughing because of that asswipe! Kyle should only laugh because of him! Why didn't that sound right?

"Stan?" Wendy asked, desperation beginning to color her voice yet Stan heard none of it, or even Wendy speaking.

"You know there's plenty of other guys out there who aren't gay," Cartman mentioned, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back a bit. "I might happen to know of a manly stud who you could try to flirt with. I'm sure he'd be, heh heh, interested."

"I'm not interested in Kenny," Wendy said.

"Who said I was talking about Kenny?" Cartman snapped, sitting up straight and glaring at Wendy.

"Then Craig. I'm not interested," Wendy said dismissively.

"Please don't drag me into this," Craig said.

"I'm not talking about Goddamn Craig either!" Cartman snarled.

"Then Jimmy."

"Did someone say my name?" Jimmy asked, look up from his lunch.

"Ay! Screw you ho!" Cartman yelled. At this point, he was being ignored and not just by Wendy. Stan had been ignoring him the entire time, grinding his teeth together as he watched Kyle be buddy-buddy with someone who was _not_ him. What did Kyle even see in that Damien asshole?

Stan was completely unaware when Wendy left to find some place to eat but then again, he had been unaware that she had been standing only an arms' length away from him. Oh how he wanted to march over there and drag Kyle back over here so they could…eat lunch together. Like they always did.

He felt someone shake his shoulder and Stan reluctantly pulled his glaring eyes off of the sight that was pissing him off and facing them at Kenny who said something.

"No, you can't have my lunch Kenny," Stan answered.

Then he proceeded to glare holes into Damien's back.

* * *

Wendy had ultimately ended up sitting at the table that her best friend Bebe was occupying, along with several other girls from their class.

Because they were girls and so much more in tune with their emotions, Bebe automatically picked up that Wendy was somewhat depressed. "Is something wrong Wendy?" the curly, blonde-haired girl asked.

With her lunch tray on the table and her rear seated, Wendy sighed and lowered her head, raven-black hair falling over her hunched shoulders and dangling above the table. She didn't feel in the mood for much conversation.

"Wendy?" Bebe asked again, worry seeping into her voice. "What's up? Why do you look like you got a B on the last test?"

"Has Stan seemed different to you?" Wendy asked in reply, looking up and casting her gaze on all the girls around her.

"Different how so?" a girl with light brown hair asked.

"He hasn't spoken with me since Christmas," Wendy explained. "Today I see him and he's not paying any attention to me. I don't know what's going on."

"That sounds bad," Bebe said. "Really bad."

"How bad?" Wendy asked as if she was speaking to a doctor about some kind of fatal illness she may have.

"It sounds like Stan's losing interest," Bebe told her seriously. Placing a hand on Wendy's shoulder comfortingly, "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, that's too bad," another curly, blonde-haired girl agreed.

"But what have I done? Things were going all right!" Wendy cried out, horrified at the diagnosis.

"I would say that he's cheating on you but this is Stan. The thought would never have crossed his mind," Bebe said. "The only other explanation is that he's losing interest. I mean, I've been hearing this rumor that Stan might be gay. Maybe he's finally coming out of the closet."

"That's impossible. There's no way Stan Marsh is gay," the brown-haired girl from before spoke up, defending the honor of Wendy's man. "He plays football!"

"I don't know," a girl with dark hair said. "Do you see the way he's always with Kyle? I kinda thought they might have something for one another."

"They're ten years old! How can they possibly have something for one another!" Wendy argued, not liking where this was going.

"Don't you know? Ten is the new eighteen," the dark-haired girl replied.

"I know!" Bebe agreed. "I need to start working hard to land me a boyfriend before I get ancient. That clock's a ticking!"

This was getting ridiculous here, as well as uncomfortable for anyone with a strong sense of morals and ethics.

"Got dibs on Clyde!" the other curly, blonde-haired girl at the tables declared. "That means no one else can claim him! You have to pick someone else."

"Aww," the other girls, minus Wendy, complained.

"But what about me and Stan?" Wendy cut in, hoping to redirect the conversation towards her and her problems. "How can I get his interest back? I don't want to lose him."

"Don't worry girl. We've got your back," Bebe said, dropping the previous topic. "Now listen carefully. If you want Stan to start paying more attention to you, this is what you gotta do. You need to drop the nice girl act you got going for you and start being more badass. Everyone likes a badass girl who can kick a lot of ass, has no problems telling others what's on her mind, but is still kind and sweet to those she considers her friends. So you need to start dressing all punk and coping an attitude more."

"That sounds like a generic stereotype," Wendy stated.

"You also need to drop the fancy smancy language. No guy likes a girl who's smarter than him," Bebe added.

"Okay, that's just getting sexist," Wendy complained.

"Well, you want Stan back, right?" Bebe asked.

"Right," Wendy admitted.

"And he's not paying any attention to you right now, right?" Bebe pressed.

"Right," Wendy agreed, lowering her head.

"So you need to do something new. Something that will shock him out of his apathy and nothing does that like a kickass girl," Bebe concluded. "Trust me. If this doesn't work, nothing will."

"But…how do I become a kickass girl?" Wendy asked, looking up at her best friend.

"Leave that to us," Bebe told her. "You're in the machine now."

* * *

With the final bell, students of South Park Elementary herded out from the nexus of homework, pop quizzes, and occasional center for paranormal activity. From the ebbing river of children who divided into smaller and smaller groups, each one heading for a predetermined destination, a pair of boys struck out on their own, heading for the residential area of the small mountain town.

"So when am I going to see where you live?" Kyle asked out of the blue to pale, dark-haired boy beside him.

"I…have to ask permission first before I can bring anyone home," Damien answered, facing straight ahead.

"Wow. Your parents must be stricter than mine," Kyle remarked.

"It's probably not for the reasons you would think," Damien said. "But I'll ask my father if it's okay."

"If it's too much trouble, you don't have to," Kyle said.

"But you take me over to your house all the time," Damien replied. "If you want to see my home, I'll take you there but I need permission first."

"Is your dad in the military or something?" Kyle wondered. "Is he one of those super-strict types?"

"We'll leave it at that," was all that Damien would say to that. "So what do you want to do today?"

"Want to throw rocks at cars?" Kyle suggested.

"Is that fun?" Damien asked.

"Totally. You can't tell me that you haven't done it," Kyle said. When Damien didn't reply, "You haven't? Dude, you have no idea what you're missing! Come on!" With that, Kyle heedlessly dragged his new friend off, heading for the usual hillside that he and the other boys used for this activity.

They had to head in the opposite direction of Kyle's house, cross a few busy streets but eventually they reached the rolling hill from which many a sled race started from and more than a truckload of rocks had been thrown.

"This is it," Kyle announced.

"So what do we do?" Damien asked.

"It's real easy. Just watch me," Kyle instructed as he searched around for a rock. It couldn't just be any rock. It needed to be the right size and shape so that it could be easily held and thrown when needed. Because of the snow, the young Jew had to swipe the white, powdery substance away on his quest for the perfect rock. From behind him, Damien watched raptly.

Here we go! This one was a good one. Man, they were going to need to start bringing some more rocks up here. This place was beginning to be tapped out.

"Now what?" Damien asked, looking at the rock with child-like wonder.

"Now we need to wait for a car," Kyle explained. "Look out that way and tell me if you see one coming. I'll look this way."

"Is there some specific car to look for?" Damien asked.

"Any car will do," Kyle answered. "First one you see."

Several minutes passed and it seemed like the busy streets they had to cross in South Park weren't going to be generous and send some of its traffic their way. But that wasn't important. It was the thrill of the hunt, the anticipation that came right before the kill…or the throwing of the rock where a little boy got pumped. Yes, it could be boring standing around out here and waiting but boredom was truly fleeting.

Especially when—

"I think I see one over there," Damien said, tugging on Kyle's jacket sleeve and pointing in the direction he was facing.

Turning Damien's way, Kyle let out a smirk. "All right, a Hummer. Nice job. Now watch me. This is the tricky part."

Tricky because it involved timing and the right amount of force. If you threw a rock not hard enough, it wouldn't make it to the road. Throw it too hard and it would pass the road altogether. Then there was the timing; throw too soon and the rock lands in front of the car, too late and you miss by a mile.

It had been a while since the last time he had been up here but Kyle was getting the hang of it. He was tensing his arm, gripping the rock in his hand, and eyeing the Hummer Damien had pointer out as it drew closer and closer and…

NOW!

Using those baseball moves he and most of the other boys his age had to learn, he sent his rock sailing through the air. Kyle watched in satisfaction as he got the Hummer right above the windshield, the rock bouncing off the Hummer's roof before continuing its journey to the pavement.

"Goddamn kids!"

"There, you see?" Kyle said, turning to Damien. "Now you find a rock. I'll keep lookout until you find one."

Damien must not have done this at all because it hadn't taken him long to find a rock but it was much too big and unwieldy for this. "You're gonna need one smaller than that," he advised. "Aerodynamics and shit."

They had to go through several rocks, one of which was almost as big as Kyle's head (how was Damien holding it like it weighed nothing?). Eventually, Kyle deemed one to be "just right" and thus the wait for the next car began. This time, their wait was a short one.

"Alright, get ready dude," Kyle said. "That Camry's coming in real fast. You need to time it just right and aim well. Okay, get ready, get ready, and…now dude!"

Hmm, a little bit too much force there. The rock missed the Camry completely as it sped along its merry way.

"I missed," Damien said and was it Kyle or did he sound sad about it?

"That's okay. You don't always hit on the first try," he told his new best friend. That actually sounded nice. New best friend. Anyway, "It takes timing and the right amount of force. Now go find another rock like that last one. You're going to hit one of these bitches, you mark my words."

The next couple tries were misses but Kyle noted how much closer Damien was getting. Each time he found he needed to reassure the other that it was all trial and error and he was getting better. This boy must be worried that he was making a fool of himself in front of him. Damien need not worry because Kyle could care less about that. They were friends after all and he would rip on him later about his poor aim when enough time had distanced him from this.

That's what friends were for.

"Alright, that Honda's coming in nice and tight," Kyle said. "Try to aim a little in front and above it. Alright, it's coming, it's coming, it's coming…now!"

He waited patiently, watching the rock shoot through the air, heading straight for where the Honda was going to be in two, one…

"Goddamn kids!"

"Bull's-eye!" Kyle cheered, slapping an arm around Damien's shoulders. "You did it!"

"I did!" Damien said, eyes wide, joy slowly filling them. "I did do it!"

"You're a natural!" Kyle boasted, not having the heart to tell him that it took someone like Butters three tries before he nailed one of those moving sons of bitches. Well, in Damien's case fourth time was the charm.

At about that time, an eighteen-wheeler was driving by and its movement caught Damien's attention. Watching it like a lion would an antelope, the pale boy's eyes began to glow an ominous red.

**Rectus…**

The large rock Damien had held earlier levitated up into the air.

**Dominus…**

"Do you hear something?" Kyle wondered out loud.

**Cheesy Poofs…**

BAM! The large rock impacted the driver's side of the eighteen wheeler's cab. The large vehicle jerked to a side and off the road, ramming straight into forest of evergreen trees where it came to a sudden halt. Seconds later, there was an explosion, the large truck catching on fire. Emerging from the wreckage was the truck driver who also was engulfed in flames and even from where the two boys stood, they could hear the man shout.

"Goddamn kids!"

There was another explosion and the truck driver was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, the two boys responsible were frozen in place. That lasted only a matter of seconds until Kyle grabbed Damien but his sleeve and began dragging him away from the scene of their crime.

"Cheese it dude!"

* * *

The whole day had been one huge bummer for Stan Marsh and that was certainly an understatement. When he had woken up this morning, Kyle had been his best friend. When he had reached the bus stop, Kyle had been his best friend. When he had gotten on the bus, Kyle had been his best friend. And when he finally met up with Kyle, Kyle had been his best friend.

After all that, now he wasn't.

He couldn't understand it. How could everything go so wrong in a few minutes? It didn't seem possible! This was, like, the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Ever! There was nothing he could remotely think of that was worse than this.

And what did Kyle see in that Damien douche anyway? Stan couldn't understand it. What did that douchebag have that Stan didn't? It baffled the mind!

Back and forth his thought processes went from depression to anger then back to depression. This lasted the whole rest of the day, further compounded by the fact that he didn't go home with Kyle to do homework or anything. Yeah, it was a cold day in Hell when Stan actually wanted to do his homework and someone had definitely turned up the thermostat.

He wasn't really aware of anything after he got home, black-out curtains hung over his windows so as to have his room better reflect his mood. He didn't remember eating dinner or anything. It was all a blur.

In fact, he didn't know how he was in the shower right now. He just looked up and found that he was sitting in the bathtub, arms wrapped around his legs as the shower head sprayed him from above. He hadn't even soaped up yet. How long had he been in here anyway? A look at his fingers revealed how pruny they were which meant he had been in here long enough.

So, reluctantly, he got out and reached for the nearest towel. With the large piece of cloth wrapped around his lower half, he stared into the bathroom mirror, gazing at his reflection and wondering how Kyle couldn't like any of _this_. This is what that Jew was best friends with. Jesus Christ, now he was sounding like a girl or something!

You're tearing him apart, Kyle!

"Staaaaaan…"

Stan blinked. That was the first thing to actually penetrate his mood. Had someone really called his name? He could find anyone and it didn't sound like his parents or Shelly.

"Staaaaaan…"

There it was again! Where was it coming from? Was he being punk'd? He swore to God, he was not in the mood for this shit!

"Staaaaaaaan…"

Okay that one was much louder. And closer. Closer that he expected for some reason. If he turned his head, he was looking at the toilet for some reason. Now why would somebody be calling his name from a toilet? It was ridiculous.

"Howdy ho!"

Stan let out a startled shriek as a small turd leapt out of the toilet, plopping right down on the seat. Somehow it was balancing on one end while the other bore a small…Santa hat? No way…

"Mr. Hanky?" Stan gasped.

"That's right Stan, it's me!" the piece of holiday poo answered.

"But…what are you doing here?" Stan exclaimed. "It's January!"

"Well I know that Stan," Mr. Hanky replied.

"So why are you here?" Stan asked.

"I was wondering if you had seen Kyle lately," Mr. Hanky said. "Why, I didn't get to see him last Christmas and he's always so happy to see me. This is the first time I didn't get to visit him in, by golly, the first time. Is he not getting enough fiber?"

Then it came to him. No really, while he was sitting on his ass in the bathroom, having a conversation with Christmas poo, it came to him. He didn't have to take this. He didn't have to let Kyle go off and be best friends with somebody else. He could fight this, he would fight this, and right in front of him might be the key to it all.

Nobody loved Mr. Hanky like Kyle did. Nobody. Sure, it wasn't saying much but still!

Mr. Hanky might be the solution to all his problems.

"Actually, he got himself a new friend," Stan said.

"Well that's just swell!" Mr. Hanky said. "It's great that Kyle found himself a new friend."

Stan had to restrain himself from saying something he would immediately regret. No, this was going to require something he rarely used: finesse. He needed to get Mr. Hanky seeing things _his_ way or otherwise Mr. Hanky wouldn't be able to separate Kyle and Damien.

"Yeah, it is," he lied through his teeth, "but there's something about this kid he's friends with." Notice how he omitted the best friend part. "Something's off about it and it's making me worried."

"Why's that?" Mr. Hanky wondered.

"I don't know and that's just it," Stan said. "I don't want to tell Kyle because he might get defensive about it. But he listens to you! Why don't you go over and check on Kyle? That new friend might be at his house right now."

"Well gosh, when you put it that way…" Mr. Hanky looked worried now, just what Stan wanted him to be. "I might have to check it out, just to be sure that nothing's wrong. Thank you for telling me about this Stan."

"Pleasure's all mine," Stan said as Mr. Hanky jumped back into the toilet with a plop. Yes, soon, he would have his best friend back and all would be right with—

"Uh Stan? Do you mind giving me a courtesy flush?" Mr. Hanky asked from within the bowl.

Huh? Oh . Right. Sure. Wordlessly, he flushed Mr. Hanky down and as soon as he was sure the piece of Christmas poo was in the sewage system, he had the urge to laugh evilly. He resisted because that was not his department. Cartman's maybe but not his.

Things were starting to look up fast. Wait, since Mr. Hanky was all magical and everything, it would stand to reason that he would be showing up at Kyle's house tonight. Stan had to be over there, to win back his best friend once Mr. Hanky gave his unbiased opinion of Kyle's new douchebag friend.

And Stan knew what he needed to do. First was to get dressed and next was to find that old boom box they had lying around here somewhere. However, in-between him getting dressed and searching for the old ass music box, the doorbell rang. He proceeded to ignore it first, but after the second and third ring and no one answering it, Stan's decision on whether to answer it or not was made for him.

"Answer the door, turd!"

Whatever Shelly says is his command.

So down the stairs he went, a bit peeved that his big plan to win Kyle back was being hindered, though it was delayed a bit further when as he reached the last step on the stairs, he found his father sitting on the couch, bottle of beer in hand, and watching the television.

"Uh, Dad? Someone's at the door," Stan said.

"Game's on," Randy Marsh said, scratching at his balls as he made no other move to get up.

Sighing, Stan did what he needed to do and answered the door.

What he found on the other side was this person in a black leather jacket and…other stuff that Stan supposed made this person look like a punk. He didn't know half of those clothes labels anyway. Best he could describe it was black shoes, black pants, couldn't tell what the hell the shirt was, and was that jewelry? And what was up with the weird hairdo? It was all frizzy and stuck out at odd ends.

"Hey Stan," a husky feminine voice greeted. "Do you think you can ignore me?"

Stan opened his mouth and closed it, unable to find anything he could say to this.

"Do I need to kick your ass?" the person grabbed him by his shoulders, long fingernails biting into him. "Beat you up? You're not going to ignore me dipshit."

"Who the hell are you," Stan stated, finally finding some words he could say.

The girlish-sounding punk paused. "It's me, Wendy," the punk said in a normal voice.

"You can't be Wendy. You don't look anything like her," Stan said, pushing the fake Wendy's hands off of him.

"Who's at the door Stan?" his father called out.

"Some Kiss wannabe," Stan called back.

"Kick his ass. Tell him we don't want any," his father called back in reply.

"I think it's a girl," Stan shouted.

Silence. Then rapid footsteps. "Holy crap," his father said. "I didn't think when you said it was a girl that it actually was a girl."

"Hey Mr. Marsh," the Kiss girl pretending to be Wendy greeted.

"It knows my name," Randy Marsh gasped. "We don't want any!" he yelled as he slammed the door into the pretend Wendy's face. "There, that ought to do it," Randy nodded to himself.

"Wasn't that a little over the top?" Stan asked.

"You have to be strict with those people," his father said. "If you let them be, they'll multiply and annoy you with their angst. Now can you go get me a beer? Mine's almost empty."

* * *

Wendy stared at the door that was rudely slammed in her face.

Well that hadn't worked. Hell, she hadn't even gotten to really try. And what was worse, she looked freaking ridiculous! It was like she was dressed for Halloween but it wasn't Halloween.

And she didn't like Kiss!

Now, because she hadn't gotten to really be the tough girl that Bebe recommended, Wendy could try it one more time or she could say that it didn't work. A glance at herself confirmed what she was going to be doing.

"Now I have to wash all this makeup off," she moaned as she trudged away.

* * *

It was awesome. Really it was. Here he was in another person's house because he was invited! He had never been invited to someone else's house before! And better yet, it was a friend's house, no, his best friend's house!

Damien was quite giddy about his circumstances.

Once again he was spending the night over at Kyle's but that was due more to logistics than anything. It was late and his father wouldn't want to open the portal back home so it was more convenient if he stayed up here. A quick phone call to Kyle's mother helped seal the deal and not only was Damien going to spend the night, he was going to have dinner with them.

Sure, it was Jewish food, which gave him a bad case of gas every time, and this wasn't the first time he had dinner over at Kyle's but he was still reveling in it all.

His first _real_ friend! Who'd have thought that all he needed to do was talk?

Right now he was busy in the bathroom flushing down something that needed to be flushed back to Hell. If it's yellow, let it mellow, if it's brown, flush it down, and if it's black, flush that bastard back to Hell where it came from.

If you were wondering, his was black.

As water began to refill the toilet bowl, Damien headed for door when he remembered just in time to wash his hands. Kyle had this thing about him washing his hands, something about piss being disgusting, he hadn't been paying attention at the time. But it made Kyle happy and when Kyle was happy, Damien was happy, so he figured that he might as well make Kyle happy so that he could be happy.

That sounded better in his own head. Oh well.

It didn't take long to complete the hygienic ritual but as he was drying his hands off, Damien paused as he heard something. What was that? It didn't sound like it came from outside the bathroom. More like inside it. But he was the only one in here. And why did it sound like Kyle's name? Must have been his imagination.

"Kyyylllleeee…"

There it was again. This time a little bit louder. Damien froze in place, eyes darting around, trying to find where that voice was coming from. Was this some kind of prank being done at his expense? If so, the perpetrator would feel the unholy wrath of…no, don't go there Damien. You don't to frighten Kyle away. No, you don't.

"Kyyyyyllleeeee…"

Damien jerked his head straight to the toilet just as a turd leapt out of it. Funny, Damien hadn't pooped out any shit that could move on its own in months. He thought that problem had cleared up.

"Howdy ho—ooooh! Damien! What are you doing here!" the turd exclaimed.

It was literally that second that Damien recognized the small Santa hat on the turd and knew that it could be only one person…thing. "Mr. Hanky," he hissed.

"Why are you in Kyle's house, Damien? By golly, you shouldn't be here!" Mr. Hanky declared.

"Kyle's my new best friend," Damien answered, allowing a smirk to cross his lips. "He's letting me stay over tonight."

"Best friends? But I thought that Kyle was best friends with Stan," Mr. Hanky wondered.

"There's been a change," Damien said. "Kyle's my best friend now. We actually talk and have conversations and I don't ditch him during Christmas."

"So you're the reason why I didn't see Kyle during Christmas," Mr. Hanky accused.

"We were having too much fun," Damien retorted.

"Fun?" Mr. Hanky seemed to lose some of his indignation.

"Yes, fun," Damien repeated. "It all passed in a blur. But why should you be concerned about Kyle when he doesn't celebrate Christmas? Aren't there other little boys and girls you can visit?"

"It doesn't matter that Kyle doesn't celebrate Christmas, only that he has the Christmas spirit and eats a lot of fiber during the holidays," Mr. Hanky answered. "He's a good kid, Damien, but you're a bad influence. I can't allow you to taint him."

"He's my first friend, my best friend," Damien said heatedly. "I won't let you take him from me."

"Well it's swell that you have a friend Damien but you're leaving me no choice," Mr. Hanky warned.

"Why don't you fuck that piece of shit you call a wife," Damien sneered.

And then Mr. Hanky attacked.

"Garrrrhhh!"

* * *

Kyle was walking by the bathroom when he heard the thumps and bangs. His brow creasing in worry, he approached the door and knocked on it.

"Damien? Is everything all right in there?"

* * *

Damien's back slammed into the wall as he awkwardly grappled with the Christmas poo. Snarling and cursing, he rolled against the tiled wall as he struggled. As his back came back into contact with the wall, he was decked by one of Mr. Hanky's small hands, his head whipping to a side as if it was hit with a sledge hammer.

Another punch from the Christmas poo snapped his head the other way then back when a third punch landed. Holding Mr. Hanky away with one hand, he punched the turd in its small, cartoonish face, sending a small tooth flying away. He pulled back for a second punch and threw it but somehow Mr. Hanky caught it.

Damien's torso leant to the left as he tried to force his fist further as Mr. Hanky pushed back. The growl that escaped Damien's mouth was inhuman, more in line with a growling lion or tiger, take your pick.

That growl soon turned into a shout as Mr. Hanky bit into his knuckle, little chompers biting into his flesh.

* * *

"Damien?" Kyle asked again, knocking on the door. "Are you all right in there?"

* * *

Damien fell back into the bathtub, ripping the shower curtain down with him. Free from his grip, Mr. Hanky was jumping all over the place, one jump torpedoing him down into Damien's gut. A quick exhale of air from his lungs escaped his mouth and Mr. Hanky carried on with the assault, punching Damien again and again.

Damien backhanded Mr. Hanky away but the turd rebounded off the wall, launching up onto the ceiling, then rushing back down. Damien rolled onto his side, Mr. Hanky landing right where his groin had been a second ago. Continuing to roll onto his stomach, Damien lashed out with a kick that sent Mr. Hanky into the wall.

There was a wet splat and Mr. Hanky slowly began to sink to the floor, leaving a shitty slime trail behind to mark his descent.

* * *

"Damien!" Kyle called out louder, knocking harder on the door. He tried the doorknob and much to his dismay found it still locked. Those sounds he was hearing were making him more and more worried for his friend.

What was going on in there? It sounded like a war.

* * *

They were back where they were before, Damien holding Mr. Hanky in a fist but now they were trading punch for punch. Damien would hit Mr. Hanky, send some shit spewing on the wall, and then Mr. Hanky would return the favor and send blood and spittle in the opposite direction.

Eventually, Damien didn't throw another punch but instead grasped his wrist as he tried to hold Mr. Hanky away from him. For a piece of Christmas shit, Mr. Hanky was one tough motherfucker.

The hand that was clutching Mr. Hanky was moving left to right, almost vibrating, as the turd tried to throw himself at him. Damien spun around on his heel, struggling against the force Mr. Hanky was exacting on his hand, both of them grunting and growling with exertion, neither willing to give up.

Then they heard the knocks. The two mighty combatants froze in place as Kyle's voice filtered into their hearing.

"Damien, open the door! What's going on in there?"

Damien eyed Mr. Hanky and Mr. Hanky reciprocated. Now they were in a stalemate, the bathroom looked like it was a warzone, and the first one to win would be the one who Kyle heard first. Damien, for some reason, found he couldn't be the one to speak because he feared that little distraction would give Mr. Hanky another opportunity to dish out some pain. Mr. Hanky, likewise, was going through a similar dilemma.

Something had to give and when it did, it was when Kyle made another demand for the door to open.

Damien's eyes widened as Mr. Hanky began to open his mouth to call out to Kyle. So, he did the only thing he could think of at that moment.

"Ky—"

Nom.

* * *

Kyle banged on the bathroom door, becoming more and more frustrated when Damien continued not to answer him. It was quiet in there now so he had to have heard him. This was starting to tick him—

Red light poured out from the cracks around the door and Kyle could have sworn he felt a wave of heat roll over him. It lasted for only an instant but Kyle remained standing where he was for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened.

Finally, he raised a hand up and knocked on the door again.

"Damien?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

The doorknob turned, unlocking as it was pulled open and there stood his new friend, a pristine bathroom in the background.

"I was washing my hands," Damien excused himself.

"But…what was all that noise about?" Kyle asked.

"Just a turd that I needed to show who was boss," Damien shrugged. "Gave me some problems. But that's over now. What do you want to do?"

Kyle blinked dumbly at Damien but decided to let it go. There were some things that he really didn't need to know the details about. So Damien was having some problems on the pot. No biggie.

As he began to open his mouth to suggest something, he noticed that there was this brown stain near Damien's lips. What was it, chocolate?

"You got a little…" he gestured with a finger to his own mouth.

Understanding him, Damien slid a long, forked tongue out of his mouth and licked the brown stuff off. "Did I get it?" he asked.

"What was that?" Kyle found himself asking.

"I…was cleaning my face?" Damien answered, uncertain.

"No, your tongue…that was cool-looking. Can I see it?" Kyle asked, forgetting about the previous topic.

"Sure, I guess," Damien said, leading the way towards Kyle's room.

With the incident in the bathroom out of his mind, Kyle followed after the other boy, eager to learn more about the other's tongue.

* * *

Author's Note: What can I say, I had a spurt of inspiration for the Damien vs. Mr. Hanky fight. If Mr. Mackey could get his ass kicked by Mr. Hat and make it look hilarious, why not this? Anyway, as for that question I mentioned in the first author's note: what would you suggest that Wendy could do to get Stan's attention? What stereotypes would you suggest? What normal things would you suggest? Naturally, anything normal is going to be stretched to the extreme for comedic purposes.

By the way, was anyone disgusted when they learned Damien ate Mr. Hanky?


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Almost got this ready by yesterday but it didn't quite work out like that. Still, at a fast clip, here's the next chapter. More than halfway done now. If you guys remember your South Park, you'll probably recognize a couple scenes here, not going to say which ones. I'd like to thank **Zephyr Morpheus Lee** for giving me what I needed to get this chapter done. Was hoping for a little more input from you guys but I get it. This isn't your typical high school South Park fic. There's little to no chance for romance in here. In fact, if there's any, it's all parodied.

Anyway, if you're reading the disclaimer, I am not making up that last part. Peter Gabriel, the guy known for whatever it is that he's known for, love songs, I don't know, actually has a song called _Shock the Monkey_. Weird ass song. Can't really understand the words except shock the monkey, which is said many times in that song. Naturally Matt and Trey used it in an episode, guess which one. I'll give you a hint: _Raisens_. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or Peter Gabriel's _Shock the Monkey_.

Warning: language, suggestive themes, death

Chapter 3

Okay, black jacket? Check. Fresh pair of blue jeans…that he hadn't worn since last week and hadn't been in the wash yet? Check. Boom box? Double check. Mustard stain on his shirt that he was hiding with the jacket? Eh, Kyle wouldn't see it from here. Check.

Stan was ready.

He took a deep breath. This was it. By now Mr. Hanky should have done his work and Kyle must be feeling lonely right about now. What better way to take advantage than to do…well, this. Sure it hadn't worked last time but he figured that it shouldn't be something he should give up on.

Determined, Stan pressed the play button on the boom box and held it up over his head, eyes staring straight at the window he knew to be Kyle's as Peter Gabriel began to pour out of the speakers.

_Monkey monkey monkey_

_Don't you know when you're going to shock the monkey_

On second thought, Peter Gabriel might not be the best singer to play to get his ex-best friend back. Especially since that friend was another guy. Oh well, he was this far into his plan, he wasn't about to back out now.

It was midway through the first chorus when he saw Kyle come into view from the window and he had to restrain a smile. That would spoil the image of him being stoic and strong in his devotion.

Besides, it was Peter Gabriel. How could you go wrong with that?

He was a little worried when Kyle left the window but Stan remained strong and waited for something, anything to happen. He didn't care how long he had to wait, he was going to get his best friend, no, his super best friend back!

The door to Kyle's house opened and what do you know, there was Kyle. So that's why he left the window.

"Stan!" Kyle hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm standing outside your window playing Peter Gabriel, what does it look like I'm doing?" Stan replied as he continued to hold the boom box over his head.

"It looks like you're trying to wake up the whole neighborhood," Kyle retorted. "Put that thing down and turn it off before you get me in trouble."

"But Kyle," Stan protested.

"Now Stan!" Kyle demanded, pointing to the ground to emphasize his point.

Sighing, Stan obeyed, lowering the boom box and turning it off.

"Now what are you doing out here Stan? And don't say the obvious," Kyle questioned.

"I just want my best friend back," Stan answered earnestly. "Kyle, it hasn't been the same. I mean, nothing's fun anymore. Everything is so much more lame. It's…it's been like those songs about having a broken heart. You think it's just an expression but it's real. My heart, it feels…broken."

"It hasn't been a day Stan," Kyle deadpanned.

"You can't deny it Kyle. We're best friends, the best," Stan said, grabbing Kyle by his shoulders, gripping tightly. "We're like peanut butter and jelly. Pancakes and syrup. Water and oil."

"Water and oil do not mix," Kyle said.

"Then water and H20," Stan corrected himself.

"Those are the same thing," Kyle said.

"That's how close we are. Dude, you're my best friend and—what's he doing here." He had been in the middle of something _emotional_ and stuff and then there's that douchebag peeking his head out the door.

"He's spending the night," Kyle said.

"But it's a school night!" Stan exclaimed, backing away from Kyle. "I've never spent the night at your house on a school night!"

"Yeah, his dad talked to my mom about it and she's cool with it," Kyle explained. "What does it matter?"

"Kyle, you're doing things with him that we've never done!" Stan was frantic, trying to figure out what was going on. Mr. Hanky should have shown up by now! Why was Damien still here?

"What? I can't do things with other friends?" Kyle was looking peeved now.

"Kyle still needs to show me what his—" a car beeps nearby, obscuring what Damien said, "—looks like," Damien piped up.

"His?" Stan repeated.

"Yeah, I showed Kyle mine and then he was going to show me his," Damien remarked.

"You should have seen it. Damien's was four inches long," Kyle said excitedly. "He can even touch his nose with it. I can't even do that!"

Stan was appalled. Were they doing what he…what he _thought_ they were doing?

"That's gross!" he cried out. Already, he felt nauseous.

"What's so gross about it Stan?" Kyle asked.

Oh God, it was coming up now. He was starting to dry heave.

"Stan? What's wrong?" Kyle asked in concern.

"How could he show you his dick, dude?" Stan manages to get out with some difficulty.

"What? Gross dude!" Kyle exclaims. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with him!" Stan retorts, pointing at Damien.

"He just showed me his tongue Stan," Kyle said, frowning in disappointment at Stan. "Why would you even think that?"

Stan pauses in his self-righteous anger. His tongue? What? Oh, now he got it. That car just had to beep right at the most crucial moment. Oh ha, ha, how funny.

"I…misheard I guess," Stan said, lowering his arm.

"Damn right you misheard," Kyle said. "Come on Damien. Let's go back inside."

"Sure," Damien shrugged, heading back into Kyle's house with Kyle. However, Damien came to a stop and held his stomach, letting out an, "Ooooh."

"Are you all right?" Kyle asked, placing a hand on Damien's shoulder, a sight that was scandalous to Stan's eyes.

"Must have been something I ate," Damien answered. "I'm good. I'm okay."

"Well alright, why don't you go back upstairs?" Kyle suggested and began leading Damien to the front door.

As he reached the door, letting Damien go in before him, Kyle turned back to Stan. "Stan, I think it would be best if you didn't talk to me tomorrow. Really? Where did you come up with dick?" And then he was gone, back into his house and closing the door behind him.

Stan remained standing where he was, not taking his eyes off the door. What had happened? He had had it all planned out. Kyle was supposed to be his best friend after all this but now he didn't want Stan talking with him. How had he screwed up this time? It didn't make sense! Why wasn't Kyle alone in his house? Why hadn't Mr. Hanky taken care of business? Why didn't he have his best friend back?!

"Goddamn it!" Stan spat out.

* * *

"You know, I would have thought that would work," Bebe commented as she laid on her stomach on her bed, looking through a magazine. "Who can resist a kickass girl who's tough on the outside but kind to those who are close to her? Seriously. That should be, like, some kind of law that you can't resist that."

"Well, Stan resisted," Wendy retorted, wiping away the last of the makeup on her face. "It was only worse when his father came to the door and didn't recognize me."

"Stan's dad can't recognize his own face in the mirror," Bebe replied.

"Only when he's been drinking," Wendy felt the need to add.

"When was the last time he saw him without a drink?" Bebe asked in reply.

"Fair enough," Wendy sighed. "So what now? Any other bright ideas?"

"I don't think you should give up on the tough girl act. I swear, it does work," Bebe said. "I mean, how else do new girls get the guy of their dreams? Especially when they move to a new town and have to start their social life all over? It adds dramatic suspense."

"It's an overused cliché with little to no evidence of success that it works," Wendy retorted. "Maybe, I don't know, maybe I should just be myself."

"Yourself isn't good enough," Bebe said. "If it was, you wouldn't be here asking for help from me."

True that. Wendy winced on how dead-on accurate that was. Shoot her with an arrow while you were at it, why don't you?

"That's it!" Bebe snapped her fingers. "Why didn't I think of it before! It's perfect!"

"What's perfect?" Wendy hazard, not sure if she wanted to know.

"It's so obvious and brilliant," Bebe explained. "You're going to need another make over. You don't still have those strict morals and ethical qualms, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" Wendy wondered, not grasping what was on her best friend's mind..

"What's the one thing you can always count on?" Bebe asked.

Wendy stared at the blonde girl as if doing so would give her all the answers she sought. However, that was not happening right now so she sighed and asked, "I don't know, what?"

"Sex sells," Bebe proclaimed. "Doesn't matter what you argue, guys are always going to pay attention to our hot bodies no matter what."

Wendy stared at Bebe again but this time more in repulsion. "Bebe, we're ten."

"Ten's the new eighteen," Bebe said dismissively. "What we need to do is dress you up to show off everything in such a way that Stan will not be able to look anywhere other than you. Then bingo, problem's solved."

"That's dumb," Wendy stated.

"It's great idea!" Bebe retorted.

"There's two reasons why it's dumb," Wendy said. "The first is that it's a stupid idea. The second reason, it's a stupid idea."

"You said it's a stupid idea twice," Bebe said.

"It deserves to be said twice," Wendy said.

"So do you have any better ideas?" Bebe asked.

Wendy opened her mouth then closed it. She opened it again as if something had come to her but closed it again. In shame she lowered her head.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Bebe said as she got off her bed and headed for her closet. Flinging the door open, she gestured for Wendy to follow after her into it. Dreading what she would find, Wendy obeyed and to her immediate relief found nothing but a perfectly normal-looking closet. Clothes hanging on hangers, shoes organized on the floor, miscellaneous junk on shelves high above, nothing to really fear.

That is until Bebe began pulling out selected shirts and pants and throwing them at her. Getting a good look at them, Wendy became horrified. "What is all this!" she exclaimed as a teal, spaghetti strap shirt landed in her arms followed by pants that were definitely three sizes too small for her.

"It's stuff that my mom got me," Bebe explained, not looking at her as she continued to dig through her closet. "Says I'll grow into them, whatever that means."

"But Bebe! I can't wear any of this!" Wendy protested.

"Do you have any other ideas then?" Bebe retorted, still not turning to look at her.

Wendy sighed. "I'll go try these on."

* * *

It was a strange sound but not one unfamiliar to Kyle. He had heard it plenty of times whenever he had an upset stomach. So he wondered what could have caused Damien to have one. The sound had woken Kyle up from a blissful slumber and for a moment he had thought that his new friend might be coming down with something.

"It must have been something I ate," Damien excused, saying the same thing he had said last night. Kind of hard to believe that now when they hadn't even had breakfast yet but he let it slide for the moment.

Forgive Kyle but he couldn't help but be a little bit suspicious. Sure, on occasion, Kyle had gotten an upset stomach from his mother's cooking but usually when Damien was over and had a bit of something kosher, he farted a lot.

He was more amused by that than offended. What ten year old boy wasn't cracking up at a display of flatulence? Except for Cartman's. Those always smelled like something had died inside of the fat boy and Kyle wouldn't have been surprised if something had.

So was Damien trying to cover up that he wasn't feeling well? Jesus dude, no need to do that in front of him. Kyle knew what it was like to be sick and to be sick often. There was nothing he would judge you for and if you had an upset stomach, you had an upset stomach. At least take something for it.

At any rate, Damien had accepted that offer before they left for school.

"You feeling all right?" Kyle asked for maybe the tenth time that morning.

"It's nothing to worry about," Damien answered.

"Well, if you're sure about that…" Kyle trailed off, hinting that if he wanted to, Damien could admit his weaknesses to him. Damien didn't take him up on it, though.

"I got a call from my father," Damien said, changing the topic. "He agreed to let you come home with me."

"Wow, when did that happen?" Kyle wondered.

"When you were in the bathroom, getting ready," Damien answered.

"Oh, okay," Kyle accepted that answer as they approached the bus stop. "I'm looking forward to it." Up ahead, there were three individuals already there, waiting. Kyle knew by sight alone who they were. A small side of him was dreading their arrival because he could see Cartman, hear him too as he was ripping on Stan for something. Yeah, it had been a while since he had been mocked by the other and Kyle was sad to see that come to an end. It must have been some kind of record.

They reached the other three regulars just as Stan snapped at Cartman, "Shut up."

"Jesus Christ Stan, you need better material than that. Is that all you can say?" Cartman mocked.

"I'm not in the mood…" Stan trailed off as he noticed the two newcomers.

Kyle could still remember what had occurred last night and he hoped that it wouldn't make things awkward.

Before either of them could say anything, Cartman took the initiative. "Well, well, well, look who finally decided to join us."

Oh what to do, what to do. Should he respond? Or should he try and ignore him? He didn't want to give Damien a bad impression of him or anything but Cartman had this talent for bring out the worst in him and in the shortest amount of time as well.

"Is he a friend of yours?" Damien asked him, directing his attention away from Cartman, thankfully.

"No, not really. He just happens to be in the same places as I am," Kyle answered.

"What kind of answer is that Kyle?" Cartman challenged, imposing himself into the small world that existed between Kyle and Damien. "I'm hurt. Have you forgotten how close we are?"

"If the space between us is the Pacific Ocean, then no," Kyle said dryly.

"See Stan? You could learn something from him," Cartman turned to Stan momentarily who had his eyes glaring lasers at Damien. "And that's something since Kyle's a dumb Jew and all."

"Screw you fat boy!" Kyle snapped at Cartman. Oh great, his temper was showing.

"You don't seem to be getting along," Damien commented.

"That's because we don't," Kyle explained, trying to get his temper under control. It was such an incredibly fragile thing.

"Oh that's nice," Cartman said, looking pointedly at Stan. "Look at how well they're getting along. Makes you jealous, huh Stan?"

"Shut. Up," Stan growled.

"Seriously. You need to come up with better responses," Cartman frowned at him. "You're like a broken record."

Kenny said something.

"Who are you calling a pot?" Cartman demanded, turning on the parka-wearing blond. "How would you even know what one is? Your family's too poor to own one—ow!"

Kenny had delivered a quick jab to Cartman's shoulder and was glaring at the fat boy. More muffled speech came and to those who understood it, it was unmistakable that it was, "Stop making fun of my family dipshit!"

"Okay, okay, jeez Kenny, lighten up," Cartman huffed. "I swear, you guys aren't fun anymore."

"How long must we stand here?" Damien asked him and Kyle could hear the annoyance in his voice. So it seemed like even Damien had some limits.

"Until the bus—" Kyle began but was soon interrupted.

"Did that buttwipe say something?" Cartman butted in again. "Why'd you bring your new boyfriend here Kyle?"

"He's not my boyfriend, he's my best friend," Kyle growled at his nemesis.

"Whoa, did you hear that? Kyle got himself a new boyfriend, I mean 'best friend.' Looks like you've been replaced Stan," Cartman guffawed.

Unexpectedly, Stan grabbed Cartman by the front of his jacket and held his fist up to Cartman's face. "You say another word and I swear I'll kick your ass from here to school," Stan threatened, surprising Kyle by the amount of venom in his voice.

"Stan? Are you okay?" Kyle asked, wondering if maybe something had happened. Stan didn't normally act like this.

Before Stan could answer him, the bus decided to pull up next to the stop, the doors opening to allow them access. Knowing full well that they would be left behind if Kyle decided to press the issue, Kyle didn't wait for an answer as he led Damien on the bus. It was a matter of course that the two of them would be sharing a seat.

It was a bit surprising to see Stan glaring at the two of them and Kyle had to wonder what crawled up his ass. It wasn't his problem, was it?

"So how long do we have to ride this thing?" Damien asked.

Kyle glanced at Damien. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen Damien ride on the school bus before. He wondered why but shrugged and answered, "When we get to school. Shouldn't be too long now."

"Oh, they're sharing a seat. Look Stan, you've truly been replaced!" Cartman said quite loudly a few seats ahead.

The ride was starting to look like it was going to be a long one.

* * *

Why was this so hard? Did the universe have it out for him or something? Stan couldn't understand it and that just fed his ever growing rage.

First, last night didn't work. Mr. Hanky so let him down and he further embarrassed himself. Then Cartman has to start the morning early and rip on him. And then Kyle has to come to the bus stop with that douchebag in tow and _share a seat with him on the bus_! What else could happen? What else could possibly happen that could make any of this worse?

Well, maybe Kyle figuring out that he was following him and that darkly-dressed asshole throughout the school and it so totally wasn't stalking. He was making sure that Damien didn't do anything untoward to Kyle, that's all. He was still looking after him despite Kyle wanting to "see other friends." He had to watch Kyle's back, you know, because sometimes Kyle…uh…could…could attract a lot of trouble. That was it.

See how great of a best friend, no, _super_ best friend he was? He only had Kyle's welfare in mind!

He meant it, it was not stalking, no matter what Cartman told you it was.

He grounded his teeth together as he watched them, rage barely contained. They were too close to one another. Sure, there was about a foot's worth of space between them but it was _too close_. How he wanted to tackle that friend-stealing asshole and lay the pain on him.

Then he heard a muffled "ahem" behind him and he reluctantly looked away from Kyle and friend stealer to see Kenny standing a few feet away from him, giving him an unimpressed look. Next came a rattled set of muffled words but Stan caught their meaning all too well.

"Dude, this is pretty fucking gay here."

"I'm not gay Kenny," Stan spat back at a potential, soon-to-be ex-friend. Geez, Kenny, don't start buying into all those lies.

Another muffled stream of words were his reply.

"I'm just making sure that that dickhole is not going to hurt Kyle," Stan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm being a decent best friend here."

Kenny replied with another muffled stream of words.

"I'm not jealous Kenny," Stan shot back. "Why would I be jealous? It's concern Kenny. There's nothing remotely similar about them."

Kenny retorted with another muffled stream of words, this time accompanied with hand gestures.

"I am not being possessive!" Stan declared. "I'm not! Why can't any of you guys see that that kid is bad news? If he can take my best friend, excuse me, _super_ best friend, then he can take your friends too. This is completely serious and no, I am not going to get a room because I am straight. Straighter than an arrow Kenny. Straighter than…straighter than that crack in the floor!" He emphasized that last point by pointing at said crack in the floor.

Said crack in the floor was anything but straight.

You didn't need an interpreter to know what Kenny's next words were. "This is still pretty gay here."

As Stan struggled to keep from strangling Kenny, who so deserved it by the way, his attention was soon diverted by…by…soon diverted by…

"Hey Stan," a sultry-looking girl with what must have been a layer of makeup on her face and a low neckline that exposed a nonexistent chest. "I've been missing you so very much," the girl purred as she held him by the arm, pressing herself up against him.

Who was this girl and why was she trying to use him like a second skin?

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Wendy," the girl answered flatly. Then, back into seductress mode, "You've been neglecting me Stan and I've been missing you so much. Why aren't you paying attention to me?"

"Ah…eh…uh…" Stan couldn't quite string together any words that might sound coherent. He couldn't quite believe that this girl, _this girl_, was his Wendy. They looked completely different! Wendy dressed more conservatively and…and…uh…she wore a purple coat! Yeah, the purple coat was a dead giveaway for her. This girl claiming to be Wendy didn't have a purple coat, just a cleavage exposing white shirt that revealed her stomach, jeans that rode low on her hips, and shoes a brand that he didn't know the name of.

"Yeah Stan, why aren't you paying attention to her?" Bebe butted in, no less slutty than this girl hanging off of him. Well, she looked sluttier than usual. Her regular, non-revealing, red long-sleeved shirt was slutty enough as it was. "Oh, hey Kenny." And then the blond was hanging off of Kenny. "You're looking fine this morning."

Stan didn't quite catch what Kenny said but it sounding like he was trying the modesty schtick. He didn't miss how Kenny's eyes weren't focused on Bebe's face but on something…lower.

"What's going on?" Stan asked in a small voice.

By now, other boys had noticed his plight and were beginning to crowd around, asking each other what was going on and what Wendy was doing. Wait, you mean this girl was Wendy? More importantly, it looked like Kyle was being drawn over here. No! Kyle, don't come over here! It wasn't what you thought!

"Stan, you've been such a bad boy, ignoring me," Wendy chided him, tapping a finger on the tip of his nose.

"Such a bad boy," Bebe agreed as she neared her face to Kenny's. Kenny's eyes were flickering up and down and you could almost hear his heart pounding in his chest from excitement.

"It's your fault I have to go to such lengths," Wendy continued.

"Lengths," Bebe said, breathing the very air Kenny was breathing out. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

"C'mon Stan, don't you wanna…" Wendy trailed off.

"Don't you wanna—" The following has been censored out due to graphic material. Kenny's eyes were bulging, his torso was moving forwards and backwards with each throb of his heart which was beating at speeds that would make a hummingbird jealous. Th-thump-th-thump-th-thump-th-thump-th-thump-th-th ump-th-pfft.

Kenny remained standing still, silent as usual but seemingly staring blankly into space and no longer responding to anything that Bebe said. It wasn't until a few small drop of blood escaped his nose and through the tear ducts in his eyes that Stan became worried enough to push Wendy off of him to check Kenny out.

"Kenny?" he asked, snapping his fingers in front of Kenny's face and getting no reaction. Checking for a pulse, Stan soon found that there was none to be found and that meant… "Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!" Kyle yelled, fist in the air.

Oh, he heard that.

"Wendy! Bebe!" And in comes Mr. Garrison, stage right…or was it left? Stan wasn't involved with the faggy drama club so he didn't know which was which. "What the hell are you doing! What are you doing dressed up like Vietnamese prostitutes? Don't you two know you have to be one hundred feet away from school if you want to whore yourselves out? You're better than this!" the balding man ranted at the two girls, glasses barely shielding the raging fury in his eyes.

"M-mr. Garrison," Wendy stuttered.

"Oh don't you Mr. Garrison me!" Mr. Garrison stated, jerking a thumb at his chest. "You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves! I mean, don't you understand zoning regulations? The corner's one hundred and ten feet away from the building, you didn't have to go far if you wanted to play adult games." Grabbing the two girls by their shoulders, the belligerent teacher began escorting them away. "Now come here. You're going to have a talk with the counselor about this. I'm so ashamed that I'm even associated with you two and your amateur mistakes!"

Then they were gone, the small group of boys dispersing until only Stan remained there with a dead Kenny who was still standing on his two feet.

"What the fuck?" Stan asked aloud, still lost.

* * *

Wendy sighed as she sat across from Mr. Mackey who was taking a sip from his coffee cup, apparently trying to gather his thoughts. She was so embarrassed and humiliated. Why had she agreed with this plan of Bebe's? And why did she have to be in here first? She just showed poor judgment and agreed to what was a horribly crafted scheme.

"Is there something wrong, Wendy, m'kay?" Mr. Mackey asked at last, lowering his coffee cup, steam rising from it still. "You usually keep yourself out of trouble, m'kay. Would you like to talk about it?"

Wendy sighed. Maybe she should talk with Mr. Mackey. Maybe he could help out with her problem that Bebe was obviously not reliable at solving.

"I know I look ridiculous but you have to believe me, there's a good reason for it," Wendy said, trying to explain the situation.

"M'kay," Mr. Mackey nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"I don't understand what's going on with Stan. He's so distant now. Before we left for Christmas break, we were always together and then halfway through the break we talked every day. Suddenly I don't hear from him until yesterday and it's like he's ignoring me! Why?" It all came gushing out of Wendy and once she began, she couldn't stop. "I went to my girlfriends and they made all these suggestions and each one has failed. That's the reason why I'm dressed like, like this! I'd never do it because I wanted to but Bebe said that sex sells and I couldn't come up with anything better so, so…"

"M'kay," Mr. Mackey nodded.

"I don't know what to do. Stan's ignoring me and I don't know why. Is something wrong with him? Is…something wrong with me? Did I do something wrong?" Wendy wondered, waiting for Mr. Mackey to answer.

"M'kay," Mr. Mackey nodded.

"Umm, that's it," Wendy said. "That's the whole situation. Do you know what I can do to find out what's wrong with Stan?"

"M'kay," Mr. Mackey nodded.

"Mr. Mackey?" Wendy asked hesitantly.

"M'kay, it sounds like you've going through a lot Wendy," Mr. Mackey said. "But don't you think you're taking it too far? You're violating the school dress code, m'kay, so I'm going to have to write you up on that."

"Fine," Wendy sighed, accepting the punishment without a fight.

"About Stan, have you tried asking him about what's wrong?" Mr. Mackey asked.

"He won't speak to me," Wendy said.

"He won't speak to you. That's going to make things difficult," Mr. Mackey commented.

She wanted to say "you think?" but she held her tongue. Now was not a good time to be mouthing off.

"Maybe you're going about this the wrong way," Mr. Mackey said. "Maybe what you need to do is give Stan some space so that he can sort through all his problems right now, m'kay."

"Space is why I'm here," Wendy deadpanned.

"I see your point," Mr. Mackey acknowledged.

"Wait, you're a guy. Maybe you could help me," Wendy said, the idea occurring to her. Sure, she would have wanted someone else but right now she was desperate.

"I don't think I'd be much help," Mr. Mackey warned, looking away from her.

"Why?" Wendy demanded, fearing that this new plan of hers was crashing before it could begin.

"Because I'm a guy. I instinctually don't understand touchy-feely stuff," Mr. Mackey answered.

Curses.

"Look Wendy, there's only one real way you can solve this problem of yours," Mr. Mackey continued. "You can find out what the cause of why Stan's ignoring you and do something to fix it so that he starts paying attention to you, m'kay. That or you try to impress him with all that anime stuff that's popular with you young people nowadays."

It clicked in her head. That was it! It was all so obvious now!

"Thank you Mr. Mackey!" Wendy thanked him. "I know what I have to do now!" And she was up and out of her chair, heading for the doorway.

"Um, Wendy? I didn't say you could leave," Mr. Mackey said but by then Wendy was gone and out of hearing range. "Wendy? Oh well. Next."

* * *

Kyle was a bit excited as he walked side by side with Damien. He was finally going to see where Damien lived. It would be nice to see where Damien stayed when he wasn't at school or his house.

That and he was getting a little worried for Damien. All day he had been having these stomach pains that had seemed to come out of nowhere. Even now, Damien had a hand up against his stomach and though he was trying hard not to, there were little signs of a grimace on his face.

"You sure you're alright?" Kyle asked in worry. "You don't look well."

"I'm fine Kyle, just a stomach ache," Damien said, dismissing his worry. There was a weird sound from his stomach. "Ow."

"No, you really, you don't look well," Kyle insisted. "Maybe you need to see a doctor. I don't want you making yourself worse because of, I don't know, manly pride. I get sick all the time. It doesn't bother me and I know what it's like."

"You're such a great friend Kyle," Damien said, beaming up at him.

"Well, thank you," Kyle said, suddenly bashful. However, he recognized the attempt to change the topic and he wasn't going to let this one pass. Health was an important thing and it was hard to get it back once you lost it. "I'm not letting you off the hook."

"I can take something when we reach home," Damien sighed.

"Fine but as soon as we do and not a second later," Kyle said firmly. "It might have to be a laxative. Whatever you ate, it's been in your system a while and I don't think throwing up is going to get it out. Since it's far enough along, you might as well help it out the backdoor as soon as possible."

"That's not a bad idea," Damien said.

So many houses they had passed by now and Kyle was wondering when they were going to reach their destination. He knew many of the houses in town, knew who lived in them and where, but they were starting to approach the outskirts of town though thankfully not near the railroad tracks and the part of town where the poor people lived. Still, they were quite a ways away from where Kyle usually frequented.

"Here it is," Damien announced, stopping in front of an ordinary house that looked pretty much like every other house in town.

Kyle eyed the place, wondering why he had never noticed it before. Then again, in this part of South Park, every place looked the same. It stood to reason that it would all blend together. Yet there was something…different about this place but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Come on," Damien said, leading the way to the front door. Kyle hurried after, keeping pace with Damien. As they reached the front door, Damien stopped and turned to face Kyle, grimacing a bit when there was another weird sound from his gut. "Okay Kyle, whatever you do, do not be surprised about what's inside. You've never seen anything like this."

"It looks like an ordinary house to me," Kyle shrugged. "I think I can handle it."

"If you say so," Damien said, reaching for the door knob and putting a key into the lock, unlocking it. Turning the door knob, he pushed it open.

Kyle didn't even blink as the sight of a normal home greeted him. This was what Damien was warning him about? It looked like his home, though the pictures on the wall looked odd. They were all hellish-looking and depicting various scenes of what Renaissance artists thought Hell was like.

"It's pretty creepy, isn't it?" Damien said.

"Not really," Kyle said as he stepped through the threshold.

"Oh. Well. I'll go upstairs and look through the medicine cabinet," Damien said as he headed for the stairs. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Alright," Kyle said, looking around the place. He was beginning to wonder why there had been such an issue for Damien's father to allow him to come over. Sure, a little of the decor was unusual but there was nothing wrong with that.

He paused in his thought as he heard what sounded like a thump. Now what could that be? Looking around his immediate surroundings, he didn't find anything to be the cause of that thump. Maybe if he looked around.

The family room with its couch and chairs that only some style-obsessed home decorator would choose was checked off soon followed by the dining room. Nothing but high end fancy stuff here. Maybe this was why Damien's father had an issue with other people coming over? Maybe it was possible he didn't want anyone messing up the furniture or something.

As he headed towards the kitchen, he heard that thump again only now he pinpointed it behind a door. If this house was designed like his was, that was the door to the basement. Now, he was having second thoughts about going into a part of Damien's house without, you know, maybe getting a tour but his curiosity was starting to kill him. He would…he'd just open the door and peek in. If he didn't see anything, he'd close it and tell Damien he heard some strange noises.

Plan in place, Kyle grasped the doorknob and opened the basement door.

His ears were greeted with a Howie scream while his eyes were met with the sight of a hellish landscape of fire, brimstone, blood, and more Howie screams. Heat wafted over him as he was bathed with a red glow while staring at the terrifying picture before him.

It was horrible to see, terrifying to watch, and…hold on a second. Kyle narrowed his eyes and looked hard at something before he widened his eyes in surprise.

"Kenny?"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Back on track and we're almost done. Sort of a short chapter here. Not much else I can say about it so enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, suggestive themes

Chapter 4

Damien could hear the gurgling of his stomach though now he was starting to feel the pressure in his guts. Maybe Kyle was right, a laxative would be the best thing for this.

It wasn't that he was suffering this much from eating a piece of poo. He'd done it before when he was much younger and to no ill effect. No, this poo was special. This poo was Mr. Hanky, the Christmas poo. All the good feelings and positive crap that made up this representative of Christmas was what was causing this discomfort. His unholiness was reacting with all the positive crap, no pun intended, and that was why he was having indigestion problems.

Fortunately, he had a little something here that would mask some of the symptoms. He had been skeptical at first when his father had insisted he have it but now he was grateful that he did. Sure his father used the hypothetical situation where he drank a bucket of holy water, which would never happen, he wasn't that stupid, and maybe that was where much of his skepticism came from.

Too bad the stuff tasted foul. Well, here goes, let's get the Hell equivalent of Pepto Bismol in his system. Through the lips and past the gums, look out stomach, here it—bleh! Oh that was foul, even for him! Let's try to wash this taste out with water. Aw, it made it worse! He shuddered, waiting for the aftertaste to go away.

Alright, it was over. Now…he paused as he thought about it. Should he or shouldn't he take that laxative? With his inhuman metabolism, who knew how long it would take for the stuff to work? It could be immediate, it could be days before he felt a bowel movement. Or it could be it worked the same way as it did with humans.

Eh, he'd do it later. Already he was feeling better.

Out of the bathroom, he headed downstairs. He had spent too much time away from Kyle already; he was feeling a bit deprived. There was a giddiness in his step as he trekked down the stairs, looking every which way for his _best friend_. Where was he? He didn't go wandering off, did he? Because that would be bad.

Oh wait, there he was. Hmm, what was with that face? It looked like Kyle had seen something horrifying, terrifying, life altering, anything else among those terms.

"Something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Damien asked.

"Did you know there's a portal to Hell in your basement?" Kyle asked.

"So that's what that is," Damien said, choosing to play dumb. Of course he knew about the portal. That was how he got home whenever he wasn't staying over at Kyle's. Yeah, this whole place around them was little more than cover. A portal out in the open on Earth was a bit noticeable, you know.

"You're not in the least bit worried about it," Kyle stated.

"It hasn't caused any problems," Damien shrugged, still trying to play innocent. He would admit that he was a bit worried. What if Kyle found that he was more than an ordinary mortal and that made him want to leave him? What mortal in their right mind would want to be friends with—no, don't think about it Damien. Entertaining that thought would make it more and more possible that it would happen. "You're not going to leave, are you?" Damien asked, some of his uncertainty leaking into his voice. He wished that he could say it was deliberate but he wasn't that good yet.

"Uh…no?" Kyle said slowly though his eyes drifted back in the direction of the basement uneasily. "Why would you think that?" Kyle returned his eyes to him.

"I'm worried that you'll be scared off," Damien admitted, making himself _vulnerable_. Oh, if only everyone at home could see him now. He'd never hear the end of it. "I don't want to lose the first friend I've ever had."

"I'm not going to stop being your friend because of some weird stuff in your house," Kyle said, rolling his eyes at him while sounding more like the Kyle that Damien knew. "I mean, it's going to take a lot more than a portal to Hell to do that." Then that hesitancy was back in Kyle's posture as he glanced back towards the basement again.

"That's good to hear," Damien said, smiling. Reaching out, he pulled Kyle into an embrace. "You have no idea how much that means to me." Hesitantly, Kyle returned the embrace, awkwardly patting Damien's back. Then, Damien quietly added while tightening his hug, "If you were, I'd have to hunt you down and make you be my friend."

"What?" Kyle pulled back a bit, looking at him incredulously. "What'd you say?"

"Did I say something?" Damien blinked back at Kyle innocently.

Kyle stared back at him intently before sighing. "I think I'm hearing things again."

"Okay," Damien smiled warmly. "Want to play video games?"

"Sure," Kyle said as he pulled himself out of Damien's arms.

* * *

The following day was a long and arduous one for Stan. Well, longer than yesterday and he personally had thought that that day had been long. It had been nothing compared to what he went through today.

All he did was watch Kyle. That was pretty much it. Oh, and he watched Kyle with that douchebag Damien. He watched Kyle and that douchebag Damien have conversations with one another. He watched Kyle and that douchebag Damien laugh at jokes with one another. He watched Kyle and that douchebag Damien when Damien pulled Kyle into a brohug while they were eating lunch together in the cafeteria.

And did he mention that he was watching Kyle and that douchebag Damien? He was watching Kyle and that douchebag Damien.

The only times he wasn't watching Kyle and that douchebag Damien was when they were in class and separated so that all he could do was watch Kyle without that douchebag Damien.

Even now as he embarrassed himself in the middle of class when he was unable to answer a question Mr. Garrison had asked him and ripped on him for not paying attention, he could not take his eyes off Kyle. Except when Mr. Garrison had called on him to answer that question that he had been unable to answer because he wasn't paying attention.

Now his head was starting to hurt. Was anybody else's head hurting right about now?

It was beginning to become a bit much so he asked to be excused to the restroom.

"I don't know Stanley, should you be allowed to go to the restroom?" Mr. Garrison asked as well as pondered. "You weren't able to answer that real easy question about the logistics required for Superman to shave off that beard of his. It sounds to me like you don't deserve the privilege."

Stan knew he needed to use the big guns if he was to get out of here. "I had burritos for lunch."

"And that's my problem how?" Mr. Garrison retorted.

"I am prohibited by the U.N. from releasing any farts outside of a secured restroom facility as the fumes are toxic enough to be classified as a biological weapon," Stan answered. "It becomes nastier after I eat burritos."

Mr. Garrison blinked at Stan. "I have no idea of what you just said but it sounds serious enough. Go on Stanley before you fart out anthrax and shit."

And that was how he ended up in the restroom, even after Cartman's complaints. He had to thank Kyle for that one. He'd been saving it up for an emergency and…and…Kyle had been the one to suggest that excuse, saying that most of it would fly over Garrison's head. Now he was depressed again.

Damn it, why was he still thinking about Kyle when he couldn't see him? Placing his hands on the restroom sink, Stan glared into the mirror, seeking whatever answers he could find but getting nothing. What was he missing? What was he doing wrong? Every day was a new torture as Kyle was not his best friend, excuse him, _super_ best friend anymore. It was taking its toll on him.

At this rate, he might as well call it quits and let Kyle…go. What else could he do? What more could he possibly do to get his super best friend back? He couldn't think of anything and everything else had sucked balls so far. And that dumb Peter Gabriel bit failed again! Why did he still have that CD anyway?

A wet fart interrupted his train of thought but what surprised Stan was that it didn't come from him. It came from one of the stalls. For a moment, he wondered who it could be but he dismissed that thought. It wasn't any of his business and it distracted him from more important things like bemoaning the sad state of his life right now. Some people were so inconsiderate that they kept messing with his priorities here.

However, he was having a hard time feeling sorry for himself when the asshole in the stall kept farting and…wow, he could hear the shit going into the toilet. Sounded a lot like water for some reason. Was that guy all right in there? He was starting to get worried, his priorities forgotten.

There were some wiping noises, probably wiping his ass, and then a flush. Stan waited, hoping to check on this person and be a good Samaritan. Hey, maybe this would get him back into Kyle's favor. He could be kind and sweet and friendly and all that shit.

The stall door unlocked and—oh hell no.

"Hello Stan," Damien greeted, wincing a bit from an odd noise coming from his stomach. The douchebag who was responsible for this whole mess strolled up to the sink next to him and began washing his hands as if there was nothing wrong with the world. Because obviously there was a lot wrong with the world, like Kyle not being his super best friend anymore damn it!

"Don't 'hello Stan' me!" Stan snapped, glaring at the other boy.

Frowning, Damien stopped washing his hands, letting water continue to spray on his hands as he asked, "Should I have said good afternoon?"

"How can you even be like this when you know what you've done," Stan hissed, trying to intimidate Damien. "I want my best friend back. No, my _super_ best friend back!"

"Ooh, what's a super best friend?" Damien asked, eyes wide and child-like.

"Something that me and Kyle were—" Stan began explaining heatedly.

"Kyle and I," Damien corrected, interrupting him.

"Don't correct my crappy English asshole!" Stan bellowed, pointing rudely at his archenemy. "Kyle and I were super best friends until you came around and messed it up! Give me Kyle back now you asshole!"

Oh yeah, he was definitely in rage mode.

"No," Damien said simply.

Stan's rage mode deflated.

"Why not?" he whined. "Can't you steal someone else's super best friend?"

"It's not my fault that you weren't giving him what he needed," Damien said as he resumed washing his hands and looking away from him. Smug prick. Before Stan could ask what he was talking about, Damien beat him to it by answering it before the question was asked. "He needed a friend when everybody else was too busy with Christmas. It's hard living in a town when you're the only person who doesn't celebrate that Goddamn holiday."

Something about what Damien said didn't sound right to Stan. "You celebrate Christmas, right?" he asked.

"I'm not a Christian," Damien answered as he finished washing his hands, shaking his hands and flicking water droplets off them. "Of course I don't celebrate Christmas. It's one of the million reasons why Kyle and I get along so well. You know, he taught me how to say that right. Kyle and I instead of me and Kyle. He's such a great friend."

He knew that, dickwad! He didn't need you to tell him what he already knew!

"So what if you're Mormon, that still doesn't excuse you from being a friend stealer!" Stan accused.

"I'm not Mormon," Damien said slowly.

"Then Jehovah's Witness," Stan snorted. "Whatever you are. I'm getting Kyle back if I have give you a taste of your own medicine and steal him back!"

**Rectus… Dominus… Cheesy Poofs…**

Damien's brown eyes began to glow red, the lighting in the restroom darkened, and Stan had a very bad feeling about this. "You dare to take my best friend away from me, mortal? I warn you, I will send you to the bowels of Hell if you try it. Kyle is _mine_."

The mirrors in the restroom cracked, the toilets began to overflow with boiling water, and blood dripped down from the ceiling. Stan remained frozen in place, horrified at what was happening all around him. This was some pretty fucked up shit here.

"We'll be best friends forever," Damien continued, his voice deepening somewhat. "**No one is taking him from me.**" Then, as quickly as all this weird shit happened, it vanished as if it had never been there. "Do we have an understanding?" Damien asked pleasantly, his eyes returning to a friendly brown that dared him to reply in the negative.

Stan did not answer, continuing to stand there petrified.

"That sounds like a yes to me," Damien said as he walked around him, leaving Stan behind. A second later, the restroom door opened and closed and Stan was now all alone.

It took a moment but Stan eventually got his motor skills, along with what little wits he had, back. What the fuck had that been about? Now he was more than just angry at Damien. He was scared. Scared for himself but more importantly scared for Kyle. What kind of unstable douchebag had Kyle made friends with?

This was different, more serious than it had been before. It wasn't about getting his super best friend back anymore, though it was quite the perk. This was about saving Kyle from an overly possessive best friend. What else was Stan supposed to get out of all that?

He couldn't do this alone, though. He was going to need help. As much as he didn't like it, there was only one person he could go to for this. He needed help, he needed to save Kyle, and…he needed a new pair of pants.

Crap.

* * *

One change of underwear and pants later, along with the end of school, Stan was on his new mission. He had spent an hour after school psyching himself up for this because, for who knew how long, he was going to be in the company of somebody really unpleasant until this was all resolved.

He couldn't help but feel that he was losing something the moment he rang the doorbell. What could it be? His integrity? His dignity? His soul?

There was no more time to ponder on it as the door opened and revealed to Stan the leviathan within.

"What do you want hippie?" Cartman demanded. "Can't you see I'm watching TV?"

"Cartman, I need your help," Stan said simply, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

Cartman stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "Could you repeat that?" he asked.

"You heard me," Stan growled.

"I don't think I did," Cartman said. "My hearing's been acting up. Say it again."

Stan sighed, looking down. "I need your help."

"Mmm," Cartman hummed, eyes closing for a second before opening again. "Now into my good ear." He turned his head so that one of his ears was closer to Stan.

"I. Need. Your. Help," Stan grounded out.

"Mmmmm," Cartman hummed again, sounding as if he had tasted the sweetest thing ever. "Now into my other ear."

"Damn it Cartman! How many times do you need me to say it!" Stan demanded.

"Until I've memorized the defeat in your voice then one more time after that," Cartman answered straightforwardly.

"Look, we don't have time for this. I need you to help me get Kyle away from that Damien asshole," Stan explained. "I think he's in grave danger."

"Help Kyle? The day I do that is the day I donate to charity. Never happening!" Cartman chortled. "This is the best thing I've heard all day. Kyle's in danger. Not just any danger but grave danger. Good. The Jewrat deserves worse than that."

"Cartman, he's our friend. We have to help him," Stan protested. Sure, it was a bit of a long stretch to say that Kyle and Cartman were friends but this was how desperate Stan was.

"I don't know. I'll have to check my schedule," Cartman said as he pulled out a datebook from a back pocket. Opening it, he skimmed through several pages before stopping at one. "Hmm, nope, no can do. I'm totally booked."

"Booked? With what?" Stan demanded as he snatched the datebook out of Cartman's hands and looked into it.

7:00 a.m.: Eat Breakfast.

7:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

8:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

8:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

9:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

9:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

10:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

10:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

11:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

11:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle

12:00 p.m.: Eat Lunch

12:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle

1:00 p.m.: Rip on Kyle

1:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle

2:00 p.m.: Rip on Kyle

2:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle

3:00 p.m.: Rip on Kyle

3:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle

4:00 p.m.: Eat Snack

4:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle

5:00 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle

5:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle

6:00 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle

6:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle

7:00 p.m.: Eat Dinner

7:30 p.m.: Finish eating Dinner

8:00 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle

8:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle

9:00 p.m.: Bedtime

"You've got to be kidding," Stan said as he looked up at Cartman with the most incredulous expression on his face.

"Yeah, I'm totally booked," Cartman said as he took back his datebook, glancing in it before closing it. "If anything, I'm behind schedule. I've been having too much fun at your expense. But a schedule's a schedule so if you'll excuse me, I need to go rip on Kyle."

"Cartman, now's not the time for this!" Stan exclaimed.

"Then when is it time?" Cartman demanded as he shoved his datebook back into his pocket. "I've fallen behind, Stan, and I can't put it off any longer. So get off my property before I have my mom call the cops on you. I have a 4:30 session to plan on how to rip on Kyle I need to do but I'm moving that back so that I can have a 4:30 session of ripping on Kyle so if you'll get out of my way."

"Cartman, there's something really wrong about that kid Kyle's hanging with," Stan warned. Damn it Cartman, for once in your life listen to him! You have no idea what you're getting into this time!

"Aww, don't let your whittle jealouswy get in my way," Cartman taunted, pinching Stan's cheek mockingly. "God, it's been so fun watching you pine over that Jewrat, speaking of which, I need to go rip on him. Later Stan."

"But Cartman!" Stan protested.

"No Stan. Me, go rip on Kyle," Cartman said, emphasizing his words with hands gestures.

"But…" Stan tried again.

"No, me, Kyle," Cartman reiterated, pointing at himself and then in the direction of Kyle's house. Then as to underscore his words, he started heading in that direction, leaving Stan at his doorstep with the front door still open.

Stan watched as his last chance to save Kyle went up in smoke. With a sigh, he lowered his head, put his hands into his pockets, and left Cartman's house, not doing anything to close the front door. He figured that if his mother was home, then she would do it. It wasn't really his problem any way you looked at it.

Now what was he going to do? He was tapped out. No more ideas, no more grand plans, nothing. It was only because his desperation had been so great that he had even attempted asking for Cartman's help. He guessed that the only thing he could do right now was give up.

This was truly the end for his friendship with Kyle.

On his way home, where he could mope and pout in private, he came across an odd sight. It was odd enough that he stopped in his tracks and stared at it.

Why were there a bunch of people in the middle of the street and all of them dressed up as anime characters? What the hell were they doing and really, what the hell were they doing? Why was one of them waving at him as if they wanted his attention? And what were they doing? It looked freaking ridiculous!

Freaking cosplayers, get a life!

With a snort, he continued on his way home, not hearing one of the dumbass cosplayers cry out, "Goddamn it!"

Wasn't really his problem anyway.

* * *

Cartman straightened himself out as he stood in front of Kyle's house. He needed to look just right before he started ripping on Kyle. Now how was he going to do this? There was a reason why he had three hours in his datebook dedicated to planning on how to rip on Kyle. You couldn't keep using the same stuff all the time. You needed to mix it up or it would grow old.

And Cartman would be damned if he let his favorite pastime of ripping on Kyle grow old.

Hmm, okay, that one sounded good. And that one. Oh, he really needed to say that one. Oh, oh, and that one too, that one was a good one. Okay, he had a few ideas. He'd improvise if he ran out of stuff.

Ready, he rang the doorbell and waited. He didn't have to wait long because Jews were always so punctual.

Much to his joy, it was Kyle who answered the door.

"Cartman?" Kyle asked aloud, frowning at him. "What are you doing here?"

Ah yes, that tone of voice. The whole no-nonsense tone Kyle got whenever he was displeased with his presence, which was more often than not. Oh, how he missed this. You never truly appreciated something until you didn't do it anymore.

"I really have to congratulate you Kyle," Cartman said pleasantly. "I have never seen Stan be so pathetic and all. But I guess that's to be expected when your boyfriend dumps you."

"What? We're not boyfriends Cartman," Kyle growled back.

"I beg to differ. Only a pussy, ass pirate would get so worked up over a Jew like you and that's only because you're letting him do you, whatever that means," Cartman continued. Yeah, what did that mean? How do you have someone "do" you? A question to be answered at a later date, he supposed.

"Screw you, fatass, I'm not gay," Kyle said heatedly. "Is this why you came here? To rip on me?"

"Why else would I come to your house?" Cartman asked rhetorically.

"I'm not going to listen to this shit," Kyle stated and as he made to close the door, Cartman stuck his foot in the doorway so as to prevent it from closing all the way.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Kyle, we have a schedule to do," Cartman said chidingly. "Now, I need about a week's worth of ripping on you so that I can get back to schedule and I'm not leaving until I at least have a day's worth out of the way."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about but get your damn foot out of the doorway!" Kyle snarled at him.

"I don't think so," Cartman said. "Now, I came up with this one over the break. How many Jews does it take to screw in a light bulb? None. They pay minimum wage for someone else to do it for them then Jew them out of their hard earned cash. Hah hah hah ha!"

Kyle made a furious growl as Cartman got ready for another one. It was at this time that someone else decided to show their face.

"Kyle, what's going on? What's taking you so long?" a black wearing, pale ass bitch came up beside the Jew. Oh, oh, this was the guy that Stan was hating on.

"Oh, is this your new boyfriend?" Cartman taunted. "You probably should have stayed with Stan. This is, like, a major downgrade."

"Don't you talk about Damien like that dipshit!" Kyle demanded.

"Who is this person? I don't like him," Damien said, eyes narrowing at him.

"Oh, I'm just one of Kyle's _good friends_," Cartman said. "We used to hang out all the time."

"No, I didn't hang out with you. You just happen to always show up at the places I'm at," Kyle stated.

"Whatever, you know we have something between us," Cartman said. From the corner of his eye, he could see this Damien looking peeved. Ooh, had he struck a nerve with the douche? Nice. Two birds with one stone.

"I don't need to listen to this, especially in my own home," Kyle said angrily. "Get the fuck away, asstard."

"Yes, do leave," Damien added darkly.

"Isn't that precious, you're finishing up each other's sentences," Cartman cooed.

"But we didn't finish each other's sentences," Kyle frowned.

"Kyle, Kyle, you need to come out of the closet," Cartman teased. "It's not healthy keeping all that gay lust of yours bottled up. Besides, I need another thing to rip on you for."

Another irritated growl from Kyle was music to his ears. How long had he gone without hearing that lovely, lovely sound? Too long by the sound of it. Time to make up for lost time.

"It would be best if you left," Damien warned. Was it him or were those kid's eyes starting to glow red? Must be his imagination.

"No, no, I got a lot more material I need to get through," Cartman insisted. "How about I give Kyle a break and start on you? Then I can go back to Kyle and use some of that material I used to rip on you to further rip on him? Doesn't that sound fun?"

"Goddamn it Cartman!" Kyle roared.

"**Leave**," Damien ordered, his voice deep.

The warning went completely over Cartman's head. "As if. Who's gonna make me?"

The red glow in Damien's eyes intensified.

**Rectus…**

**Dominus…**

"Does anybody hear something?" Kyle wondered.

**Cheesy Poofs…**

* * *

Stan was reclining on the couch when he heard the doorbell ring. Now who could that be? He was busy wallowing in self-defeat, thank you very much. Why couldn't whoever it was come at another time?

Nevertheless, he pushed himself out of his seat sluggishly and trekked to the door, opening it. Stan's eyes widened and his mouth fell open at what he saw.

There stood Cartman on his doorstep. He had his left arm and left leg wrapped in casts, bandages around his head, and balanced on a crutch under his right arm. Black scorch marks painted his face and any other exposed areas of skin and to top it all off, he had a black eye. He looked like he had been through hell.

"You were right Stan, we have to do something about that kid," Cartman said.

"Why? What happened?" Stan asked as he allowed Cartman into his home.

"You didn't tell me that kid had weird ass psychic powers," Cartman said accusingly. "He fucking went Carrie on me! It's a miracle I'm still alive!"

"What about Kyle? Is he alright?" Stan asked worriedly.

"Uh, hello, almost beaten to within an inch of my life here," Cartman said.

"I need to go check up on Kyle!" Stan almost exclaimed, panicking.

"I'm sure the Jewrat is fine," Cartman said, attempting to interrupt Stan's panic mode. "You should be more concerned with how dangerous that Damien kid is. If he's allowed to stick around Kyle, then that means…"

"What? It means what?" Stan asked, somewhat captivated with Cartman's drama. As if his worry for Kyle couldn't get any greater.

"It means that I…" Cartman trailed off again.

"What does it mean?" Stan pressed, starting to get a bit annoyed.

"It means that I'll never be able to rip on Kyle," Cartman said at last.

Stan stared blankly at Cartman. "Right…that's so important," he deadpanned.

"I know!" Cartman said, not getting the sarcasm. Doing his best to balance himself against his crutch, he grabbed Stan by the front of his brown coat and pulled him close. "If we want to stand a chance of breaking those two up, we need to work together. We must be united Stan or else we won't stand a chance against the power of friendship."

"You've been watching that My Little Pony show, haven't you," Stan stated.

"No!" Cartman said a little too quickly. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Right…" Stan said again.

"We're getting off topic here!" Cartman stated. "Look, you don't like me and I hate your guts because you're friends with a Jew. None of us are perfect, especially you, but none of that matters. We need to put aside our differences and team up if only for a few hours. We both need that Damien kid out of the picture so that I can go back to ripping on Kyle and you can stop being a lovesick pussy."

"How many times have I had to say this? I'm not gay," Stan said.

"Fine, stay in the closet, what do I care," Cartman said dismissively.

"This is really not helping your case," Stan said.

"Oh? And who was it that came to _my_ door earlier today asking for _my_ help, hmm?" Cartman inquired, narrowing his eyes at Stan.

"But now you're in _my_ home asking for _my_ help now," Stan pointed out.

"Who the hell is keeping score?" Cartman demanded.

"Whatever, I get it," Stan said as removed Cartman's grip on his coat. "This fighting is going to get us nowhere."

"That's what I've been trying to say for the last five minutes. Don't be stealing my thunder Stan!" Cartman declared.

"What do you have in mind?" Stan asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose, not willing to go through the mental gymnastics anymore. Sure he had participated earlier but he kinda got swept up into the moment, you know? Now he was focused. Now that Cartman was willing to help out, Stan was feeling confident that he was going to get his super best friend back.

"I was thinking that maybe you dress up like one of those fags at the gay club, show that you're here, you're queer, get used to it, and impress Jew boy so much that he starts confessing his gay love for you," Cartman began.

"No," Stan stated. He really needed to start convincing Cartman that he was not Goddamn gay, Goddamn it!

"C'mooooon!" Cartman whined. "It'll so totally work! It's like…like a girl trying to be someone who's tough on the outside but is kind to anyone who's close to her. Who the hell can't resist that?"

"That's even dumber than the gay idea," Stan retorted. "Don't get your dominatrix fantasies mixed up in this Cartman and come up with something better!"

"Alright, fine," Cartman rolled his eyes. "What about dressing up like some of those anime characters?"

"I saw a bunch of cosplayers today looking absolutely stupid. No," Stan vetoed.

"Christ you're picky," Cartman muttered. "Alright how about this one?" He leaned in close and began whispering his next plan. Now this one held some promise, even more than the gay idea from earlier. Actually, he was really liking this idea. As in _like_ like.

Did this make him a bad person?

Screw morality, he wanted his super best friend back already! This new plan was sounding better by the second and—

"Stop calling me gay already!" Stan roared.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Alright, last chapter. I said this was going to be short, right? Well, the await conclusion of this story. Will Stan get Kyle back? Will Cartman be able to rip on Kyle again? Or will it be Kyle + Damien forever? And what about Wendy? All those answers and more coming up. But first, I'd like to give a big thanks to **ShadowMajin** for his reviews and **Zephyr Morpheus Lee** for being the great sounding board that she is. Now, without further ado, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Chapter 5

It was dawn and Wendy had never felt so down. Every attempt she had made to get Stan's attention had failed. She was beginning to wonder if this might be it. Stan was bored with her, it was so obvious. Otherwise he wouldn't be ignoring her. It was like he was trying to tell her something.

He wasn't into the tough girl who was kind to those who knew her. She had no clue where she stood as the slut that Bebe convinced her to try out. She didn't even want to think about the anime stuff because that was a misadventure in and of itself. Something that blew out of proportion and got on the evening news.

It wasn't important though because he just looked for a second and left.

Now, Wendy was a stubborn person and she would fight for what she considered important to her. She would fight tooth and nail and wouldn't hesitate to gut anyone that got in her way. It would be so much easier if there was another girl involved but there wasn't. If that was the case, she'd have a target to go after and physically remove.

But she didn't even know what had caused all this to happen in the first place and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Her phone rang and robotically she picked it up. "Hello," she said in a dead voice.

"_Okay Wendy, I've got a surefire plan that'll work this time."_ Bebe proclaimed on the other end. _"How's your singing voice?"_

"Huh?" Yeah, Wendy was very eloquent this morning.

"_This is what I'm thinking. Who out there doesn't like a musical? No one, that's who,"_ Bebe continued. _"The way to get back into Stan's heart is to sing your way back in. So I want you to come over and—"_

"Thanks Bebe but I don't think I will," Wendy said dully.

"_Wendy? Are you alright? You're not…giving up are you?"_ Bebe asked in concern.

"What's the point Bebe? It's over isn't it?" Wendy stated more than asked.

"_You can't give up! Wendy, you and Stan are like…you're like…you're the most popular couple in school!"_ Bebe exclaimed.

"We're the only couple in school," Wendy stated.

"_You shouldn't give up Wendy,"_ Bebe pressed. _"I swear to you that this one is going to work. If you give up now and lose Stan, then what hope is there for the rest of us?"_

"Bebe…I'm just going to walk up to him and ask him if he wants to go out," Wendy said.

"_But that's…boring. And didn't you already try it?"_ Bebe replied.

"I'm going to be myself for once Bebe. If that doesn't work, well, I guess I'll have to move on," Wendy sighed. "I want to thank you for all your help. You're a good friend."

"_But…"_ Bebe tried to protest but couldn't find any words to continue.

"I'll see you at school," Wendy said and hung up.

Yes, she would try one more time and that was because she was a stubborn person. She was going to do this one on her own terms. She was going to be Wendy Testaburger and no one else. Bebe had her heart in the right place but right now there was no going further with this. It was going to be do or die.

And if the two of them, Stan Marsh and Wendy Testaburger, were not meant to be, then she would relinquish her claim and step away. Because she had class and no matter how desperate she got, she would admit defeat.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

"Okay, remind me what we're doing," Stan said as he entered the school with an injured Cartman at his side. How the most desperate of times brought the most unlikely people together.

"It's real simple Stan, Kyle is predictable," Cartman said as he hobbled along at Stan's side. "He's always going to stick up for people, especially if they're his friends. What we need to do is separate the queer couple and then cause that Damien asswipe to do something that'll turn Kyle against him. My thinking, we get him to attack you like he did me."

"And end up like you?" Stan asked incredulously.

"We all have to make sacrifices Stan," Cartman said. "If you want your gay best friend back, you might have to go to the hospital to do so."

"But I hate hospitals!" Stan complained.

"You'll have to deal with it Stan. What other options do you have other than to not get Kyle back into your loving—"

"Stop calling us gay already," Stan interrupted, glaring at the fatass. "Can't you come up with something new?"

"But it works so well already," Cartman replied. "Do you know how long it takes to find something that gets on people's nerves and not only does that but never gets old? You have to get to _know_ someone to be able to find something like that out."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, already wanting this over with. Just suck it up Stan. So long as this works, it'll be worth it. "Okay, so how do we separate them?" he asked after exhaling loudly.

Cartman was about to open his mouth but stopped as there was activity directly ahead of them. Damien was bending over slightly and it looked like his arms were around his stomach region. His mouth was opening and closing, obviously he was speaking with Kyle, and then darkly-clad boy headed straight towards the nearest restroom, Kyle staying put but watching him leave.

"That'll work," Cartman said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Selecting a name in his address book, Stan wasn't able to catch the name, Cartman held the cellular device to his ear and a couple seconds later, "You're on." The call was ended as soon as he spoke and the phone was back into his pocket.

"What was that about?" Stan wondered.

"You'll see," Cartman said, grinning toothily. "We're about to ensure this separation lasts a little longer than it was going to be. Be ready to go after Damien, Stan. The plan's about to go into action."

Stan stood next to Cartman and waited a couple seconds. He took a quick glance around and saw Kyle taking his time as he headed after Damien, most likely to wait for him outside the restroom. "I don't see anything," he remarked.

"It's happening, just wait a minute! Gawd!" Cartman swore.

* * *

Kyle was really becoming worried about Damien. Whatever stomach problems he was having, they were getting worse. He might have to get his best friend to a doctor or something. There was no way a gastrointestinal problem should last this long. It could be serious.

But he was going to take his time as he followed after Damien. Jehovah knew that that place was going to stink something horrible. At least Damien had told him that he had taken a laxative recently. Maybe that was why he was rushing off as quickly as he was? Hopefully there wouldn't be negative side effects from it. More importantly, he hoped that it wouldn't make Damien's problem worse.

"H-hey, Kyle?" Kyle stopped in his tracks and faced Butters of all people.

"Yeah?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow as the shorter, blond boy.

"I was wondering if you could help me out with some of last night's math problems," the boy asked. "Those things were giving quite a bit of trouble."

Kyle glanced towards the restrooms and back towards Butters, biting his bottom lip. Damien was going to be in there for a while, wasn't he? What would it hurt to help Butters with his homework? It beat waiting outside of the restroom doing nothing and he figured that if Damien finished before he was done with Butters, he would find him.

"Sure," Kyle answered to the boy's request.

"Okay! Why don't we go to the library? That way I won't be distracted," the blond boy said cheerfully, leading the way.

Kyle was already having second thoughts since it seemed like Butters was a morning person. But he had already committed himself and he wasn't one to go back on his word. Still, the library was quite a ways from the restroom Damien had gone into. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Butters was deliberately leading him away from Damien.

Which was preposterous because Butters was the most naïve and gullible person in the whole town. He didn't have it in him to have ulterior motives. With this in mind, he followed after his fellow student.

* * *

Stan stared blankly. "That's your plan? Using Butters?"

"It's working isn't it?" Cartman huffed. "Now's your chance Stan. Kyle's out of the way so provoke that son of a bitch and get this show on the road."

Well, Cartman did have a point. Kyle and Damien were now firmly separated. Cartman had kept up his end of the plan and now it was Stan's turn. He needed to go into that bathroom and provoke Damien into coming after him but do so in a way that Kyle wouldn't suspect that something was up. Of course, there was the implication that he wasn't going to get out of this unscathed but desperate times called for desperate measures. This was all for you Kyle, hope you appreciate the lengths he would go to.

Squaring his shoulders like a man heading for his execution, Stan marched his way to the restroom. His muscles were tensed with stress and his heart was beating faster from the tension. He needed to get through this, hopefully not in critical condition. Reaching the boys' bathroom, he opened the door and—

"Jesus Christ!" Stan swore as he pulled away and covered his mouth. What was that foul odor? Did something die in there again? The insult to his nose was overpowering. His eyes were even watering! And he had to go in there? Oh!

Manning himself up again, Stan took a step into the restroom and almost ran out. The stench in here was so overpowering! He had to leave again. Oh God. It was terrible. So terrible!

"What are you doing?" Cartman scolded as he came up to him. "Why aren't you going in there?"

"It stinks, dude," Stan said, holding his nose while he waved his hand in front of his face, trying to fan some fresher air.

"Oh, you're going to let a fart stop you from going through with this?" Cartman sneered. As he reached to push the door open, "It can't be that bad—holy mother of God!"

Okay, you knew something smelled bad when Cartman said it was bad. This did not make Stan feel any better.

Taking in deep breathes, trying to remind himself that clean air did in fact exist, Cartman calmed down slowly. When he was cool, he turned to Stan and said, "So when are you going in there?"

"What? You just smelled that! And you think I'm going in there?" Stan exclaimed.

"Ey, we're already committed to the plan. Butters can't distract Kyle forever," Cartman argued. "Are you going to let this opportunity slip through your fingers?"

"Not if I'm going to suffocate in the process!" Stan declared.

"What's more important? Breathing or having Kyle as your butt buddy again?" Cartman questioned.

That was a low blow and Cartman knew it. Stan glanced at the restroom door and sighed. Pulling up the front of his coat so that it covered his nose, he steeled his resolve one more time and entered the unholy hell on the other side.

"Remember to breathe through your mouth!" Cartman called helpfully after him.

Fuck you, Cartman. Fuck you.

Now he was in the thick of it all, the stench so repulsive to him. If this all came from Damien, he was going to have to find out what he had eaten so that he could prevent Cartman from ever getting it into his system. Lord knows they needed another reason to make him dangerous.

Aw, aww! Damien farted! Was it him or had this place taken on a murky quality to it? He could almost see the air in front of his face, it was so thick! Okay, Stan, focus, you need to focus! You came in here for a reason and if you did it right, you could get out of here and back into some cleaner air. Alright, let's do this.

It took him a moment longer than necessary to figure out something to say that could provoke Damien, who he could see his feet under the stall's door, and get him racing after him. Probably wasn't going to come up with the golden ticket right off the bat so he was going to have to improvise.

"What the hell have you been eating?" he exclaimed, figuring that he might as well satisfy that bit of curiosity first. Can't make Cartman any more dangerous than he already was, you know.

"Is that you, Stan?" Damien said from the other side of the stall door, another fart following. Oh, it sounded ugly in there.

"You're fogging up the air in here. What is wrong with you?" Stan pressed.

"None of your business, now leave me alone."

There was some irritation but nowhere near where Stan needed it. Damien was probably humoring him, the douchebag. Come on Stanley, think! Oh, how about this?

"I think we need to start calling you Fart Boy now," he taunted. "I think you can give Syria's non-existent chemical weapons a run for their money."

"Really? Thank you. Now I have something else to boast to Kyle about."

Goddamn it! Stop bringing Kyle into this! And besides, he would not be impressed by this shit. So what, you made bad farts. What do you want, a freaking medal? So freaking immature.

"Hey, Kyle would not be impressed," Stan said heatedly.

"Do you have something over your mouth? It sounds muffled."

Okay, this asshole was really annoying him now. Wait a second, it should be the other way around! Come on, Stan, think! You need to get out of here before you suffocated on the noxious fumes!

"Kyle hates it when you don't speak up," Damien continued. "Except for that other friend of his, the one whose voice is always muffled. He tolerates that. You wouldn't happen to be that other mortal and just happened to sound like Kyle's ex?"

What was with this guy and talking about Kyle! It was like every other word he said was…was…oh my God. That was it!

"Kyle doesn't like farts," Stan said as casually as he could. "Sure, Terrance and Phillip make them funny on TV but in real life? Nope. Reminds him too much of Cartman and he hates Cartman. And you know what Cartman does? Talks about his farts and tries to make Kyle smell them. So no, I don't think Kyle would be impressed that you can fart so bad."

There was silence from the other side of the stall door and Stan felt that he might have hit a nerve. But then, "You don't know Kyle as well as you think you do."

Oh, he was challenging him on who knew more about Kyle? This douche had no idea what he was getting into. There was no bigger expert on Kyle here than him! He knew everything and he didn't learn it by being a stalker either! He was rather proud of that fact by the way.

"I know how much he loves his little brother Ike, even if he is adopted," Stan said.

"Ike's adopted?" Damien asked with surprise.

"Yeah, he is. I wonder why Kyle didn't tell you," Stan said idly.

"It's…it's not that important!" Damien said defensively.

"How about when Kyle gets sick? He gets so out of it whenever he gets sick and it happens to him more often than any other kid," Stan continued to press his advantage. "Have you ever seen him sick? I bet you haven't because Kyle really doesn't like people seeing him sick. Means he doesn't trust you."

"Kyle does trust me!" Damien declared and Stan could feel a sense of foreboding growing.

"Has he told you what the fuck is up with lighting all those candles?" Stan asked. "Because he's told me." A blatant lie because Stan didn't even know what the fuck was up with lighting all those candles anyway. Not like Damien knew that fact either and that was the point.

"I…" Oh was that anger and frustration he could hear? He was getting close. Was this how Cartman felt whenever he taunted someone else? Wow, he never knew he could be so manipulative.

"There's so much you don't know about Kyle," Stan continued. "I wonder if he even does trust you. You know, I thought about letting you have him but now that I see how much Kyle trusts you, I think I'm going to go on over and get him to become my super best friend again. I could do it, you know."

"You won't dare," Damien spoke, his voice darkening. At this point, Stan was inching towards the door as the walls of the stall began warping outwards, as if trying to contain something.

"Actually…dare," Stan said, trying sound as cool as he could. Huh, it was starting to get hot in here…and make that god-awful smell worse. He didn't know how much longer he could last in here. "I'm going to go and talk with Kyle and _take him back_ right now. It's not like you're going to be going anywhere, Fart Boy."

A second later, he was dashing out of the boy's restroom, a large crash following after him. He almost ran into Cartman who demanded, "What the hell is going on in there?"

"No time, run!" Stan cried out as the restroom door exploded into a million little splinters of wood.

"Wow, he's pissed!" Cartman noted.

"Of course he is! Run!" Stan exclaimed but came to a sudden stop.

A few feet ahead of him stood Damien, which was impossible because there was no way he could be faster than him. It looked like he had been standing there the whole time instead of giving chase after him. What was this some kind of horror flick?

What was most striking was that Damien's eyes were glowing red, the brown irises blood red. There was a low creak that soon signaled the lockers around them caving in on themselves. The light fixtures above dimmed and flickered, a couple shorting out altogether. And the heat! The heat that had sprung up without any reason in the restroom had followed them out. If Stan was sweating before, he was starting to leak out buckets now and not just because of fear.

Now he understood what Cartman meant by going Carrie.

"**I told you,**" Damien said, his voice dark and demonic. "**No one is taking Kyle from me.**"

"Oh Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior, please save my totally worthy soul," Cartman prayed from beside him.

From between the tiles that made up the floor, flames licked from between them, creating a more hellish atmosphere. Stan was almost dancing as he tried to avoid the flames, bringing a leg up to spare it only to bring it back down so he could lift the other up and give it relief. Rinse and repeat. Cartman was busy trying to shake his leg cast that had caught on fire, the fat boy cursing all the while.

Then Damien took a step forwards. And then another step. And another. Stan was backing away as best as he could, Cartman just happening to be shuffling in the same direction as him.

"Look, look, you can have Kyle," Cartman tried to bargain. "I don't really want to rip on him anymore. Honest!"

"**I was going to punish you along with **_**him**_**,**" Damien nodded his head at Stan, "**anyway, but now I know you were in on this. So now I have a reason.**"

Cartman paused. "Oh God damn it!" he swore.

"Kyle can choose his own friends!" Stan tried to argue.

"**He's already chosen me,**" Damien retorted, continuing his approach. "**Unlike you, I won't be letting him slip through my fingers.**"

"Hey screw you! It was Christmas!" Stan tried to defend himself, however weakly it was.

"Come on, can't we all just get along?" Cartman asked.

Both Stan and Damien paused, staring at Cartman. Even all the nightmare shit happening paused as if the last thing imaginable to have ever come out of Cartman had come out.

"What?" Cartman demanded, glaring at the two of them.

Damien resumed his approach, Stan and Cartman backing up until they ran of room. The demonic boy's shadow fell over them, causing both of the ten year olds to shiver in terror at what was about to happen to them. Damien was raising his hands up and—was that fire? His hands were covered in fucking fire! Oh Lord! It looked like only a miracle could save them now.

"What's going on here?"

Just like that, all the weird shit, the glowing red eyes, the flickering lights, even the fire licking out from between the floor tiles vanished. Damien was suddenly a normal looking boy who was spinning around to face his self-proclaimed best friend.

"Hi Kyle! I was looking for you!" Damien chirped.

Stan could only stare at the other's audacity. There was no way he was pulling the innocence card. No way, no how, not right now when he had been seconds away from doing some unthinkable horror to them. Was this dick bipolar on top of being freaky?

"And you're…asking Stan and Cartman?" Kyle asked, peering around Damien to see them.

"Well, you were gone when I was finished," Damien said. "I thought they might have seen where you went."

Stop being so logical, you bastard! Kyle, seriously, you can't be eating this up! Did you not see what was happening a few seconds ago?!

"He's lying Kyle!" Cartman cried out. "He was threatening us before you showed up! You gotta believe me!"

"I don't believe nine-tenths of what comes out of your mouth," Kyle deadpanned.

"Wow, nine-tenths? So that means you believe me only one out of—ey! I just speak the truth, you Jewrat!" Cartman glared at Kyle. "It's not my fault you can't handle it."

"He's telling the truth this time," Stan butted in, knowing that if he allowed Cartman to speak further, he was going to make things worse for the both of them.

"Is that so?" Kyle asked, giving Stan a leveled look. Looking at Damien, "Are they telling the truth?"

"They're judging me based on my appearance," Damien replied. "I look freaky to them and they misinterpret me to be threatening them."

"Oh, that's real classy of you two," Kyle turned on Stan and Cartman. Stan felt his stomach drop as Kyle was doubting _his_ words now. But Kyle always believed him! Always! "I expected this kind of thing from Cartman—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cartman demanded.

"—but you Stan? You're usually so tolerant," Kyle continued, ignoring Cartman.

"Ey! Don't ignore me!" Cartman snarled.

"Kyle…" Stan stared at Kyle soulfully.

"Come on Damien," Kyle said turning away from him and no, he was walking away. He was taking Damien with him and that douchebag was giving him a shit-eating smirk. Kyle was further away now…

Damien came to a stop, clutching at his stomach as an odd sound emitted from it. The douche groaned at some kind of pain he was feeling and that caused Kyle to stop and look in worry at him. Stop looking at Damien with concern! Stop it!

"Is it your stomach again?" Kyle asked him worriedly. This was heartbreaking; Kyle was showing concern to someone who was not him, Stan! The agony he was feeling!

"I think that laxative's…" Damien trailed off as he groaned again, bending over. Kyle placed a hand on his back and Stan couldn't take his eyes off the sight as he rubbed circles on Damien's back.

"Come on, let's get you to a toilet," Kyle said soothingly as he tried to guide Damien back to the restroom. But they didn't make it that far.

A loud fart blared from Damien's ass and oh it was so foul. Stan almost vomited from it, not really a feat since he tended to have a weak stomach. Another fart ripped loose but this time something else came out. The seat of Damien's pants tore open as a stream of shit let loose, splattering a long trail of crap down the hallway. If Stan had thought things smelled bad before, this was worse. Like a million times worse. He felt a dry heave wrack his body, it was so bad.

Soon enough, Damien's shit storm came to an end and even from here Stan could see how wide Kyle's eyes were. "Are you okay dude?" Kyle asked, concerned. "I think we need to get you to the nurse—"

"…hoooooo…"

Kyle stilled. Almost robotically, the young Jew turned his head towards the trail of shit, Stan doing the same as he could have sworn he knew what that "ho" was. There, right there, was that a…Santa hat?

"Mr. Hanky!" Kyle exclaimed as he left Damien's side and rushed to the piece of Christmas poo. "Oh my god, what are you doing here?!" He knelt down and scooped the mythical piece of crap in his hands.

"Kyyyyyle?" Mr. Hanky moaned. "Is that you?"

"I'm right here Mr. Hanky," Kyle said. "What happened to you?"

"You wouldn't believe it even if I told you," Mr. Hanky answered.

"You just got shitted out of my best friend," Kyle retorted. "I think I can believe anything at this point."

"I've been stuck inside your best friend ever since he ate me," Mr. Hanky said, giving a small cough. "The things I had to do in there, why, it could only be told in a separate, standalone one-shot. But I made it," another cough, "I made it through the bowels of the Antichrist."

"I'm not understanding," Kyle said. "Damien ate you?"

"And he's the Antichrist," Mr. Hanky groaned.

"And he's the Antichrist?" Kyle repeated, blinking dumbly.

Damien looked stricken at that part and Stan wondered if Damien had ever mentioned that tidbit to Kyle. To be honest, this was news even to him. Kyle was best friends with the Antichrist. With a side glance to Cartman, he thought that the fatass was going to have a field day with this. Once Damien was out of earshot, of course.

"I came to visit you Kyle, because we hadn't seen each other during Christmas," Mr. Hanky continued with his damning words. "That's when I ran into him. I was worried for your safety because he's the son of the devil but he ate me before I could."

Kyle was aghast, Stan knew that much. At least Mr. Hanky hadn't told him that it was because of _him_ that Mr. Hanky was in this situation in the first place. The last thing Stan needed was Kyle finding out that he had tried to use Mr. Hanky to break Damien and him apart.

"Kyle, I know this looks bad," Damien began, slowly approaching Kyle.

"How could you do this?" Kyle exclaimed, turning on Damien.

"I was scared that you didn't want to be my friend once you found out the truth about me," Damien said softly, looking anywhere but at Kyle.

"Damien, I'm not pissed off at you because you didn't tell me that you're the Antichrist, which actually explains some things," Kyle said, looking upwards thoughtfully.

"Really?" Damien perked up, looking at Kyle hopefully. "You're not mad at me?"

"Oh I'm still pissed off at you but that's because you _ate one of my friends_," Kyle replied, turning his glare on Damien for once. It surprised Stan that someone with the kind of supernatural powers that Damien had flinched back at the anger from the less supernatural Jew. "You don't eat other people's friends, Damien, especially _my_ friends! You just don't!"

"But Kyle!" Damien protested.

"No Damien," Kyle interrupted, holding a crap-stained hand up. "Now's not a good time. I think…I think we need to separate for a while."

Stan's eyes darted from both Kyle and Damien, recalling how many a time Damien had declared that no one would take Kyle away from him. Did that include Kyle? Would Damien even respect Kyle's wishes?

Mr. Hanky coughed pitifully.

It was like a standoff, a battle of wills that Stan could not see or understand and it was starting to piss him off. Were they going to stand there staring at one another all gay-like? Because that was gay. Really. Come on, do something already! He didn't like the feeling of standing there like he was waiting for his execution!

Finally, Damien slumped and sighed. "Okay," he said softly as he trudged away, the ripped hole in his pants displayed for all to see. Oh great, now he was starting to feel bad for the douchebag. He sounded so…sad right then.

Whatever.

"Are you all right, Mr. Hanky?" Kyle returned his attention to the piece of Christmas poo as soon as Damien was out of sight.

"I'll live," Mr. Hanky answered him, coughing a bit. "I just need to go on back home and—cough—get back to nature if you know what I mean. I'll…I'll see you next Christmas."

"Do you need me to flush you down?" Kyle asked.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you, Kyle, but gosh, it's nice of you to ask," Mr. Hanky politely declined. "But you know, I feel a little bit bad for Damien. Were you two, you know, friends?"

"Yeah, but that's no excuse for what he did to you," Kyle said. "Friends don't eat each other's friends."

"You mean you're not afraid of him?" Mr. Hanky asked, somewhat surprised.

"Why should I be? He's just a somewhat normal kid with supernatural powers that wants a friend," Kyle shrugged.

"I'm sorry for breaking you two up, Kyle. It sounds like you two got along pretty well," Mr. Hanky apologized before releasing another fit of coughs.

"Are you sure you don't need me to…?" Kyle asked worriedly.

"I can handle it. Just…just need to go home," Mr. Hanky again refused before taking what little Christmas energy he had left in him and began hopping his way towards the nearest restroom, kids pausing and watching the bouncing piece of poo as it went along its merry way.

And then there were three.

"Hey. Kyle," Stan greeted awkwardly.

"Stan? You're still here?" Kyle asked, somewhat surprised.

"Well, yeah, I was worried about you," Stan confessed. "Especially after all…that," he gestured aimlessly to the trail of shit still on the floor. "You're my best friend, my _super_—"

"Oh gag me," Cartman interrupted, gagging. "This is so sickly sweet, I think I'm going to get diabetes from it."

"If you don't already have it," Kyle retorted.

"Ha, ha, spare me," Cartman said dismissively. "I'm getting out of here before all the gay tries to corrupt me. See you fags later, when you're not being gay."

Stan watched as Cartman hobbled away, frowning. There was only one other person around who knew to what extents he had gone to get Kyle back. Should he make Cartman have a…accident? The last thing he needed was for anybody in the know to start babbling about it.

"God he's so annoying," Kyle huffed.

"No argument here," Stan agreed, turning back to Kyle. "You know, I learned something today. You can't take your friends for granted. One day they're there right next to you and the next they're gone. You have to cherish your friends, like they were your own family because that's what friends are. They're family but not like brother and sister family. If you don't take care of them, one day, they might not be there. Kyle, I'm sorry for taking you for granted. I really learned a lot today."

"Really?" Kyle asked, giving a small smile.

"Yeah, if we can be best friends, no, _super_ best friends again, I promise you Kyle that I will never take you for granted again," Stan promised.

"You mean that?" Kyle asked.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?" Stan proclaimed. "This is going to be a new start Kyle. From here on out, it's going to be just you and—"

"Hey Stan," Wendy greeted, coming up to Stan's side.

"—hey Wendy," Stan interrupted himself, looking away from Kyle and to his girlfriend. "What's going on?"

"I was wondering if you were busy today," Wendy said. "Would you like to hang out?"

"Sure," Stan said. "It's been forever since we spent time together."

"Stan?" Kyle asked, staring at Stan's back, eyebrows raised.

"Come on, I'll walk you to class," Stan continued as he left with Wendy.

"You're so nice Stan," Wendy praised him, inflating his ego.

Yeah, he was nice, wasn't he? He was such a good boyfriend. But you know, he felt like he was forgetting something. What could it be? Eh, probably wasn't that important in the first place.

* * *

"Stan?" Kyle said after Stan, watching as his reinstated best friend left him with his girlfriend leaving him all by his lonesome. Again. For, like, the hundredth time. He didn't know why he kept count.

No, wait, it was definitely more than that. Meh, this was always the way wasn't it? At least he was getting used to it.

And just when Stan had been in the middle of some epiphany! How long was his attention span anyway?

So here he was, all alone. Yes, alone. Cartman didn't count and thankfully he wasn't anywhere close. He'd probably be cracking up and having a laugh at his expense after Stan ditched him. What was he saying, probably? Of course he'd be ripping on him. It was like he had a datebook or something that told him what times he had to rip on him.

Absentmindedly, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Before he knew it, he was in his contacts and looking at a number. Coming out of his stupor, he took a real good look at it.

It was Damien's number.

Wouldn't it be a bit presumptuous of him? He had just told him off not five minutes ago. Would he even want to see him again?

Yet…

All it would take was a press against the touch screen. That's all he had to do. Something so simple. Really it was. And it was very tempting…

**Rectus…**

Kyle frowned.

**Dominus…**

He tightened his grip on his phone.

**Cheesy Poofs…**

"Will you give it a rest already?" Kyle snapped, glaring. He snapped out a "God!" as he stomped off.

* * *

Author's Note: And there's the deus ex machina, Mr. Hanky himself. What, thought I forgot about him? Had an idea for a subplot where Mr. Hanky journeyed through the bowels of the Antichrist but I felt that would have made the story longer than necessary. It was either that or do the Wendy subplot. Guess which one won out? Anywhere, Mr. Hanky's words might be prophetic. I might just write an one-shot detailing Mr. Hanky's misadventures inside Damien just because it's an amusing idea that's too good to leave unwritten. I have more ideas for these smaller fics so be on the lookout for the next. Until next time.


End file.
